


nothing else for me at my door.

by gavinsaleks (ohmaggies)



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: 2016 Aleks, 2018 Trevor, Aftermath of Violence, Basically A Doctor/Boxer AU But Aleks Is A Criminal Instead, Death Threats, Fake Chop, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Gang Violence, M/M, Minor Injuries, Near Death Experiences, Past Relationship(s), Serious Injuries, Strangers to Friends, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 01:36:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17234975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmaggies/pseuds/gavinsaleks
Summary: while hunted down by a rival crew, aleks finds comfort and safety with a young neighbor he's never met before.."I don’t even know your name. You could be a serial killer or something, and I had a shower an hour ago,” the boy says, and Aleks stares unimpressed.“I'm Aleks.”“Is that really all you got from what I said?”





	nothing else for me at my door.

**Author's Note:**

> hello happy new years, it's almost 2019 and i've been drinking but i've been working on this since june and only finished a few days ago so here we go! thank u so very much to [mây](http://roccketraccoon.tumblr.com) who is so incredibly kind and helpful, and made this fic a hundred times better than it was by reading and editing it for me. 
> 
> and thank _you_ for reading!
> 
> \- rachel.

**.**

#####  **february 15th, 2016.**

**.**

“What the _fuck_ am I supposed to do?”

James and Brett are arguing, the way they always seem to be these days. Aleks is patient with them, because Lindsey is asleep beside him, hair falling gently in her face as her body tilts towards Aleks and finally settles against him. Somewhere, someplace, Jordan is waiting for them to come home, and somewhere, someplace, Joe is thanking his instincts for getting him away from them before they decided to collapse all of this to the ground.

If you remove the bottom pieces, the ones that hold the most weight and carry the other pieces, the rest of the tower crumbles.

Maybe they're not a game of Jenga, probably not, but there's a boxset of it staring blankly at Aleks from where it's been half haphazardly shoved underneath the coffee table, and it seems as good a comparison as any. They used to place board games a lot, when heists were far away and they were alive and happy, and the past wasn't nearly as cruel as it is now.

This-- Not Jenga, real life.

What are Jordan and the others if James has tangled his hand in Aleks’ and dragged him away from them? Nothing, or something, but less than they used to be.

Aleks sighs, his whole body shifting with the exhale, and Lindsey stirs awake beside him. She's tired and doesn't usually let her guard drop like this, but she's been trying to get ahold of Anna all day with no reply and worrying is degrading on a lot of things. Aleks feels it, almost, and grits his teeth like it'll help block out James’ yelling down the hall out the door to Aleks’ left.

“He always like this?” Lindsey asks, a yawn ghosting her words.

“He's James. So, yeah, he's always fucking like this,” Aleks replies, folding his arms over his chest and hoping Lindsey doesn't push more. She does, and Aleks knows he's the stupid one for assuming she wouldn't; it's what she does, forever the friend that looks after everyone for no reason other than thinking she needs to.

She does.

She does need to; none of them can look after themselves even if they're adult men. Having her around to lean on-- her asleep on Aleks aside-- has been a lot more comforting these past few weeks than anything else has. Aleks is glad they have her, like he'll be glad when James and Brett sort out their shit and stop shouting for long enough for everyone to get some well needed rest.

“He's always this loud?” Lindsey's glaring at the door, as if the mere force of staring will magically solve the problems going on behind it. When she does look at Aleks, he instantly finds himself  wishing she wouldn't. “You know this is all just because he cares about you, right? This arguing and yelling and bothering Brett-- it's because he cares, in his own James way.”

Aleks meets her gaze, the soft round of her eyes and the hair she still hasn't pushed away from her face. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good, that's good. I'm going to try Anna again, I'll let you know if she picks up,” Lindsey says, standing up and stretching, and Aleks blinks once, twice, and she’s already out of sight.

She doesn't come back, not for a few hours after the yelling has subsided, so Aleks assumes she never managed to get to Anna, or she did and whatever was said was something he was better off not knowing.

**.**

#####  **october 3rd, 2016.**

**.**

“Where the _fuck_ are you going to go?”

James moves his heavy duffel bag up onto the table next to a backpack, looking around cautiously before spotting what he needs and leaning over towards Aleks to retrieve a shirt. It’s an old one, but one he’s fond of, and Aleks is trying his hardest to stay calm, to will away the anger burning at his core that wants to yell, to scream and shout and swear, but he’s trying. James always works better when you’re patient with him, years of being around him have taught Aleks that among other things; like the fact that James doesn’t up and leave Aleks like this.

If Aleks thinks of it like that, he can rationalise his anger as fear- as his best friend shoving all his possessions into a few bags with plans to leave but no plans to tell him. It stings, and twists at Aleks’ insides in ways he can’t explain as he watches James move about as though Aleks hadn’t entered and spoken to him.

“Hey, I’m talking to you!” he says, a hand slapping the table next to James’ bag. “You, right in front of me, with the bags of your things... did Joe call or something?”

“No.”

“Okay, then what the fuck, James. You’re leaving? You weren’t even going to tell me about this? No text or call, or nothing at _fucking_ all,” Aleks argues, and it’s then that James notices Aleks’ gaze hovering on his backpack, moving subtly to cover it but not enough so that Aleks doesn’t see. “You’re an asshole, you know.”

James sighs, and Aleks watches the uncaring facade disappear as he turns to Aleks, finally meets his eye with something akin to desperation reflected in his features. It almost makes Aleks want to apologise, to tell him they can work whatever this is out together, but James was willing to leave without mentioning it so Aleks is too bitter, too immature to look past this as simply as he wishes he could. He’d never up and leave without James, and it doesn’t seem fair that James is finding it so easy to do exactly that with not so much as a thought as to how Aleks is going to deal with waking up tomorrow to him gone.

Even walking through the door and catching James in the act of getting ready to leave was hurtful, digging at Aleks’ chest and the heart encased in it, and leaving him unable to do more than watch for minutes before he found the nerve to talk. He wishes he found it as easy to read people as James, then perhaps he’d know exactly what was going on or he’d have picked up on it days ago and been able to help; anything is better than this silent communication, the anxiety and ‘you can’t change my mind’ radiating off James so strong that Aleks just wants to know where he fucked up.

“I took something, okay?”

Aleks’ face inches together in confusion as he manages, “What?”

Then, James exhales heavily and drags his backpack over. He undoes the zip and shows Aleks the inside contents, the stacks of cash that would take Aleks months on a normal schedule to get. He’s impressed, initially, but this steadily fades, hands unable to keep still as he folds his arms over his chest and tries to will away the sudden drop of stability he once had. He’s worried, in ways he hasn’t been for years, and it’s not a good feeling to have, especially when James makes that face at him, and Aleks wants to do nothing more than whatever it takes to fix whatever dumb mistake has been made.

“I took it from Kenny,” James admits, quiet.

Aleks is, understandably, pissed. His fingernails dig sharp into his palms, his jaw clenching as he assesses the situation, and nothing he can think of comes back good. James is a thief-- really, they both are, but from people who won’t miss it, people who don’t matter in the grand scheme of things and won’t hunt them down-- and Aleks is having a hard time processing this, eyebrows furrowed and dark hair still a mess from spending the past hour or so helplessly tossing and turning in bed.

“You stole from one of the richest crime lords in Los Santos?” he manages, slow. “ Actually, though? Dude, are you insane?”

“Why the fuck do you think I’m leaving?” James shouts back, as if it’s as obvious as taking these thousands and just deciding to ditch Aleks sometime between before and after stealing. “He’ll figure it out eventually, and I’m not sticking around for the fallout. Be my guest if you want to, but I’d rather be on the run for a few years than end up with busted kneecaps for taking a couple grand.”

“You took, like, ten grand! That’s more than a couple, James.”

James shoves the backpack away, reaching to close his duffle bag of clothing as he reaches for his car keys sitting lonesome on the table. Instinctively, one of Aleks’ hands moves to grab at James, the tips of his fingers pinching tight to James’ sleeve; James looks up, eyes wide and apologetic, but he’s made his decision and Aleks is fighting a losing battle trying to change his mind.

His eyes are tired, he’ll use that excuse if James asks if he’s crying; he’s not, he _doesn’t_. Tired, from the nightmares and inability to fall asleep, and of how this business spits everyone out so hard Aleks feels like he barely knows the people he’s been friends with for years. James has always been the exception, the one person Aleks could depend on to be there and not change no matter what, but now he’s leaving and Aleks doesn’t quite understand why.

“Stop being so obnoxious,” James starts, a warning glance at the hand holding onto him.

Aleks moves his hand, instead using it to pull James in against him, a small sense of relief finding its way to Aleks’ nerves. At least he gets to say goodbye, despite how tense James settles into the embrace, and to Aleks trying to pull him closer. It's warm during the day but early morning like this brings a cool breeze, one that means the hug isn't unpleasant for that reason, just unpleasant because of how still James is.

He's worryingly frozen in Aleks’ arms before he lets his hands rest on Aleks’ back, palms burning heat into Aleks’ spine. For the last time in a long time, Aleks is afraid of letting go; he has Brett, sure, but he hasn't been on his own on these streets for years, thanks to James, who is now leaving.

“Take me with you?”

James exhales at the words, air hot on Aleks’ neck. He's going to say no, of course, but Aleks figured it was worth a try. Now, he's too terrified of how he's going to figure Los Santos out by himself to concentrate on the probability of James coming back, which he easily calculates down to a number that's almost non-existent. Kenny will never stop looking, not until he dies, and there's no possible way James could come back and continue on as if nothing happened after stealing from him. No way, and the realisation stings.

“I can't, Aleksandr,” is said softly, James’ hands somewhat tighter on Aleks. “I'm gonna need your help, so you're gonna have to stay here. Watch over my place for me. Take care of Ein.”

“ _Our_ place.”

James shakes his head as best he can, words rough as he says, “This'll be the first place Kenny checks, you can't be here.”

“You just… you just really _fucked me_ with this, you know. Pawning your dog off on me, getting rid of our place- a little warning would be nice next time. Thanks, James.

“I promise I'll come back.”

“Shut up and go, dude, Jesus,” Aleks says, but still doesn't let go where his grip is tight on James.

He'll let go when the time comes when he needs to, and luckily that time isn't right now, isn't in a second or so, or a minute. Soon, not now but soon; if James dies, or if Aleks dies while James is gone, he doesn't want either of them to have the regret of some half-assed goodbye. Aleks doesn't know if this might still be one, he’d just much rather have this here than wish some days in the future that he’d gotten to say goodbye the way they both deserve. After years of friendship, with nothing but each other, they've definitely deserved something.

“I'll come back.”

“You better.”

**.**

#####  **october 4th, 2016.**

**.**

Aleks wakes up alone, nothing but a text from James and his dog, Ein, pawing at him as she tries helplessly to jump up onto the couch beside him.

From contact ‘james’: _watch your back - j._

**.**

#####  **october 27th, 2016.**

**.**

The rain is nice in the lights, in the way it soaks through Aleks’ clothes and washes the blood from his skin to the dark pavement underneath him.

If it wasn’t so wet, maybe he wouldn’t have tripped while trying to run away, slipping and crumbling and ending up with knuckles and steel boots digging harsh into whatever part of his flesh they could find. As he yelled, as he screamed and tried to keep James’ taunting voice out of his head while people who once used to be friends sneered at him weak and bruised, collapsed on the ground- “What _the fuck_ is up with your pain tolerance?” James, a few weeks ago, words harsh but gaze gentle, “Don’t be such a pussy.”

Aleks balls his hands into unsteady, shaking fists, darting his tongue out to the corner of his mouth to taste the blood on his lip. It’s been a rough day and it doesn’t look like it’s going to get any better as lightning crackles overhead, and the leader of this gang-- _Kenny_ , Aleks remembers bitterly-- gets closer, casting his large shadow and blocking any traces of light Aleks was getting from a lone streetlight. They’re intimidating, which is probably why James left as soon as he realised they weren’t going to be too happy with him; left and abandoned Aleks, one text telling him to watch his back.

One text that Aleks couldn’t even heed in mind, he thinks bitterly, and winces as he drags one of his legs further up to himself, ignoring the way the movement stirs the clear water and colors it pink. He’s going to be worse for wear for a few days, or weeks, and it’s going to make trying to scrap together this money for James ten times harder than it needs to be.

“You tell James we expect our money in a week, or next time you’ll end up much worse,” Kenny threatens, and Aleks raises a shivering arm to push his dark hair away from his face. “I’d say a black eye, this time, and a split lip, a stab wound or so that will need rest to heal, and… a broken rib? Call me tomorrow and let me know how right my guesses were.”

One of his henchman fists the fabric of Aleks’ jacket in his hands and lifts him rough from where he was pressed on the ground. There’s a split moment where Aleks considers fighting back or spitting in this guy’s face or screaming for help over the sound of thunder, but he’s learnt a handful of things in this business: one, know when to give up a fight; two, if you’re outnumbered by over five people, which Aleks is, then it’s probably better to just sit down and die; three, have someone you can go to for help when things get bad, like real bad, like you had to follow step one and two and now you’re bleeding out in an alleyway.

James was Aleks’ person, but now he’s gone, and Joe is gone, and Aleks left his past crew so he can’t exactly show up on their doorsteps at one in the morning to ask for help. He’s stuck here, with a slice in his leg that makes him want to do nothing more than to lie down and cry until he can’t cry anymore, or to be desperate enough to reach for his phone where it’s sitting metres away in the rain and call an ex. An ex-girlfriend, an ex-boyfriend, an ex-friend, anyone that would be willing to drive here and pick him up like they would a lost dog from the pound.

Well, maybe if he was a lost dog, someone would care enough, but he knows they won’t. James is MIA after stealing from this crew that is currently handing Aleks’ ass to him, and everyone he used to know probably wouldn’t recognise him now that he’s been in Los Santos for the past few years, getting all this blood on his hands. To be fair, most of it is his, especially right now as he’s lifted like a cat by the scruff of his shirt collar and the leader gets closer to his face, enough that Aleks can smell the liquor on his breath.

“If James doesn’t get me that money,” he says, as Aleks struggles to inhale through his bloodied nose, “then you’ll wish you were dead. You think it was bad this time, huh, but next time I’ll fucking kill you. Then, when I find out where James is hiding, I’ll send pieces of you to him until he has no choice but to pay me back. Unless, he doesn’t really care about you, then I’ll just kill you and take all your money. That should make up for everything he’s taken from me, right?”

“You ever consider maybe he didn’t think you’d need it?” Aleks manages, his words choked and hard to say, but the twist of the expression on the man’s face was worth the effort.

“You think you’re fucking smart, you little shit? Think I won’t fucking kill you right now?” he says, and reaches a hand out to gently cup Aleks’ jaw. “Next time I see you and I don’t have my money, this will be the first thing I break. Then your nose, then your toes and your fingers, then whatever I can get while you’re writhing in pain.” A pause, then he releases Aleks and steps back. “Pedro, let him go, we’re leaving.”

The henchman drops Aleks with a harsh thud to the ground, his small cry through clenched teeth earning echoing laughter from the men standing around him. He barely gets a moment to breathe before another hand is on him, a face close and menacing and ugly, and Aleks stares back through tired, exhausted eyes. He should say something, really, but he promised James he wouldn’t until he returned- until he could go somewhere and get what he needed then come back and give this guy his money, money that Aleks didn’t realise he had told James he was willing to die for.

Today’s full of surprises.

“You have one week, Marchant,” the man says, then goes to step away but must think better of it. He pauses, watches Aleks try to breathe through the pain, to work the tight hurt from his fingers and lift himself to a seated position. “Look at you, not so immortal now, huh?”

Aleks forces a laugh even though it hurts, a tight burning in his ribs as he moves, as he forces more breath at the lame joke. The disgusted, dejected look he gets in return is worth it, before the man disappears around the corner with his men and Aleks is suddenly, very, very alone in this alleyway. It’s late, the bars are closed around these parts when it gets too late so everyone will be a few blocks over, which means he can’t look forward to being found and helped by a random drunk stranger who happened to stumble upon him.

It does, however, mean he needs to find a way to stand up and get a ride back to his place before he loses too much blood. As long as he’s home he can call Brett, who’s out of town but has contacts in and around Los Santos who would probably be willing to help, and have a shower to clean off all this dirt and blood so he’s not a wreck by the time he manages to find someone to help. He has a shitty first aid kit sitting in his bathroom cabinet at home with bandages and he’s got more than a few bottles of liquor to drink if he needs to stitch himself up, or to help with how heavy this morning’s become.

Aleks’ legs are shaking and still as he tries to move, the skin splitting open on his right one is painful enough that he lets out a scream, a clawed hand reaching to press it before deciding otherwise. He needs to stand, that’s all; take this step by step and try not to focus on the throbbing of his blood as he feels it trickle down his leg, washed from his shin to the ground underneath him by the heavy rain. His once white shoes are drenched, covered in an uncomfortable shade of his blood mixed with water, the light pink unseen but unpleasant as it weighs down his jeans.

“Of course I’m wearing jeans,” Aleks jokes, even though the lack of humour that invokes a laugh makes his ribs feel as though they’re going to collapse in his chest. “My new jeans, my new fucking _jeans_...”

The streetlight on the side of the road flickers as he shuffles towards one of the brick walls beside him, hands pressed flat to it as he uses it as a crutch to stand. He’s trying not to cry- trying really, really hard to bite his tongue and swallow the sobs in his throat because he doesn't want to be pathetic and alone like this, but his hand slips, scraping skin off his elbow and jarring his injured leg back to the ground, and the force of his own scream is enough to make his eyes burn. Usually, he'd crawl back to James before things could get worse, except this time he doesn't have that option, and even if he did, it was James who got him into this mess.

Aleks uses his spare hand to wipe his face, cheeks covered in dirt and blood and rain and tears. He's exhausted, he's wounded, he's alone, and he's had worse but this is different. James left, shook Aleks by his shoulders one day and said he couldn't take it anymore, then disappeared without a trace leaving Aleks to clean up this ruin he made. Aleks, logically, wants to be mad at James for this, because that makes more sense than being angry at himself, but instead he's just tired. His eyes find it harder to lift with every blink, his hands are shaking and calloused, his mouth is bloodied and all he can currently breathe through, and his whole body can't help but shiver in the cold and rain.

He's fucking miserable.

This is why they say not to get too close to anyone in this business, which is exactly what Aleks didn't do. He was eighteen and young, and James was loud and confident, and everything Aleks wanted to be; there was no way he couldn't have spent time with him and got attached, not with James. His best friend, the guy who could grab his hand and drag him anywhere and Aleks wouldn't even _ask_ what he was doing, he'd just go.

James, who after getting close to Aleks over these past few years decided to piss off some pretty powerful people, ones that wouldn't have to search far to find Aleks and rough him up as a warning. Jesus Christ, Aleks is going to kill James next time he sees him, really. Immortal has been dragging himself around these streets for years; he's not going to let something like this keep him down when he's dreamed for so long of this city being his. His and James’, on top of the world with riches and each other, and not ones to easily get cornered and beaten.

It's happened before obviously; Aleks has never been lucky enough to avoid danger, and he has a stupid habit of taking his persona literally and throwing himself into the worst of situations. He's not untouchable now, with James gone- he's Immortal with no Nova, with brown hair and an old jacket and a mouth he's never really been able to keep shut no matter the situation he's in. He's a kid, breaching his early twenties, who looks pathetic on his own without James here to help him.

It's the first time they've been apart in five years, always the type to stick close to each other after tragedy after tragedy. Not trustworthy or loyal to anyone but one another, and they liked it that way, the two of them versus the world versus everything. Now, without James, it means Aleks is injured and crying, and the storm overhead is making it harder for him to try and drag himself out onto the street using the wall. The ground is slippery, the lights in the distance are blurred and uncomfortable to look at it with his vision, so he's going to make a safe guess that he has a concussion.

A car glides down the road, bright lights sparking a pounding in Aleks’ head. Concussion or migraine, he'll find out when he gets home depending on how many painkillers he needs to take, or if he can wake up after he falls asleep. It's a gamble but he'll die anyway if these guys don't get their money or if James doesn't return to lend a hand and take their attention off of Aleks. As the car gets closer, Aleks pushes himself away from the wall and glances back regretfully at his phone, knowing it's not worth getting when it's as wet as it is and more than likely unusable.

“Need a ride?” someone asks, and a cautious glance reveals a taxi driver, eyebrows furrowed but smile friendly and pitying.

“Yeah, actually. That’d, that’d be good,” Aleks murmurs, reaching to open the door with a knowing moment that he's going to find it hard to stand if he sits, but desperate to get out of the rain. His apartment is way too far to try and walk to like this, anyway, and he'd be worried about tracking blood through the streets on his way there.

“Where to?” the driver asks, looking back as though he wants to inquire as to what this bruised and bleeding mess of a boy is doing sitting in his cab. “The hospital?”

“I have a place a few blocks over, I’m fine,” Aleks says, leaning forward in his seat with the intention of giving directions to the driver in the front seat before his attempt is cut off.

“You don't look fine.”

“I bumped into an old friend, he felt like having a word,” Aleks explains, as carefully as he can. It's not the whole truth but it's better than ignoring the man completely, particularly when he's willing to give Aleks a ride back to his place; maybe he took pity on him, or, maybe he saw him and knew he could make a quick buck delivering him to the hospital ten minutes away. Either way, Aleks is enjoying the warmth of the cab too much to deny himself this.

“You want me to call the cops?”

Aleks breathes too heavy, a hand moving to press gently beneath his bloody nose. “Nah, I'm good. Uh, take a left here, then- yeah, wait at all the lights that are going to be red because that's just my luck. I live near the auto parts shop, it’s pretty hard to miss...”

He leans back, staring at his seatbelt before deciding against it; safety isn't exactly a priority right now, and dying in a crash would be a lot kinder than what those men have in store for him. Instead, he looks around the interior of the car, the rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, the photo of a man and child sitting in the cab driver's open wallet, the engagement ring, the fingers on the steering wheel tapping along to a familiar song on the radio. It's soothing alongside the rain, Aleks’ eyes falling shut for long enough that when the cab driver brings the car to a stop, Aleks can see the bright lights of his apartment block.

“Here you are, son,” the driver smiles, body shifting to look at Aleks in the back.

“How much you want for the drive?” Aleks asks, reaching for a sad wad of cash remaining undisturbed in his back pocket. He lost his phone but he still has some money, at least; he'd have more if he hadn't been pressured into petty crime after James left, unable to pull off proper robberies on his own without someone to watch his back.

“On the house, you looked like you could need it,” the man says, a genuinity to his words that makes Aleks smile despite the pain it causes. “Put some ice on that, y'know. Might make you feel better, help with the bruising.”

Aleks pockets his pathetic, slightly damp cash, the movement of forcing it back hurts more than he'd admit or show. Someone is being kind to him, he's not going to ruin it by bleeding even more on the nice back seats of their cab, even though this car looks like it's had much worse driving around Los Santos. Aleks notes a camera in the top left corner that's been there the whole drive, small rips and holes in the seat covers, and his own rain tainted blood soaking beneath him.

“Thanks, dude,” he says, and in a polite attempt to meet the man's eyes, notices his wandering gaze over the mess Aleks has made in the back. “Sorry about ruining your cab, but I really do appreciate the drive, man. You sure you don’t want me to--”

“It's all good, I'm going home to my family now and the company will take care of the car,” the driver explains, and his smile doesn't fade. “You look like you've had a rough day, I was the one who picked you up so it's on me. Make sure you get some rest, bandage yourself up, and see someone if your injuries get worse. I was mugged a few years ago, too, I know what it's like.”

Aleks offers a smile and opens the cab door, body suddenly weighing ten times more now that he's had a sit down. His clothes are wet still, hanging unpleasantly off his frame, save for his jacket, an old brown leather that's kept his torso relatively dry considering he was pressed down in the rain for the better half of his morning. He's grateful, footsteps wet and loud in a puddle as he steps out, thanking the driver once more before he gets out and closes the door, shoes soaked through as he distances himself from the car.

The rain is much lighter here, a gentle sprinkle dusting his face and visible in the streetlights; it looks prettier now that he isn't getting gangbashed in an alleyway by a group of gang members. James’ fault, really, but Aleks is trying to be patient with him. James has always had his back and he will now, just needs the time to get himself together before Aleks is very literally murdered by this crew James decided to piss off by stealing from them.

Aleks usually takes the stairs up to his apartment two at a time, but his leg hurts even when he's standing still, and his eyes are too blurred for that kind of coordination. On top of all that, he can feel his lungs getting weaker as he walks, the bruises on his ribs burning as he reaches the staircase. The walk from the cab to here was already too much for him, and when he doesn't hear the knowing jingle of his keys in his pocket, his body almost gives up entirely.

He should just die here, now that life has handed him the shittiest deck of cards.

“Right, of course,” he sighs, his tone sarcastic and exhausted. His fingers dip gently into his pockets to double-check but the realisation hits him suddenly that he must've lost them in the alleyway or the cab, and he's going to have to take the time to pick the lock to his apartment. Unless…

The lights are on in the apartment next to his, curtains drawn but signs of activity inside, and he could probably spin a good enough lie about being mugged to get some pity or help from his neighbour. He's never seen them before that he knows of but if someone showed up at his place bloodied and wheezing and asking for something, he wouldn't shut the door in their face; if he was in that situation, which he is, then he'd want this person to offer assistance in some form. As long as it didn't involve calling the cops.

Aleks runs a hand through the mess of brown hair on his head, working out the soft tangles and ends dry with blood, and positions himself leaning on the staircase railing so that it's easier for him to walk. It's a lot less taxing like this but his dependence on it means it takes up longer than if he'd suffered through the pain and made it up on his own. Still, he can't be mad at it, not when he'd rather spend hours doing this with minimal struggle than gritting his teeth and forcing himself up despite the way it would feel as though his whole body was tearing apart.

He makes it up, tired and his nose trickling blood onto water droplets stuck on his shoe. On second thought, maybe he should've gone to a hospital. That probably would've been a good idea, yeah.

His neighbour's door opens, a young man with dark hair tidily kept and a bag of rubbish in the hand not currently on the door. Aleks perks up, attention drawn from the ground to this boy, and the boy is turning to go back into his apartment when he must feel someone's eye on him, because he turns to find Aleks watching him. His features twist in concern, the light casting pretty shadows on his face, and Aleks can do nothing but stare.

“Rough night?” he asks, and Aleks laughs despite the pain. The boy winces, eyes flickering from the bleeding wound in Aleks’ right shin to his split lip, to his hand curling fingers carefully against his ribs, and the slow stream of pure red blood touching his cupid's bow.

“Yeah, you know how it is,” Aleks offers, ignoring the flare of pain he invokes by doing something as simple as speaking. “Have a bit to drink, get fucked up by a couple guys on the street.”

“I can't say I do but you sure sound like you’re having lots of fun,” the boy shrugs, and it's then that Aleks blurred vision makes out the books sitting on the bed inside his apartment. So, he's studying or cramming for an exam or he's planning some kind of grand heist, though Aleks isn't exactly confident enough in the latter. He looks young, like a student, and he's probably old enough to be studying for some kind of degree that Aleks himself was never motivated to get despite his family's insistence.

The boy turns back to his door and steps inside, hand loose around the doorknob, and Aleks’ voice is choked when he speaks.

“Yo, you don’t think you could me a hand or something? I’m not feeling too, uh, too great, and my apartment’s not exactly gonna be easy to get to from where I am right now.”

“I don't know, I have to get work done for tomorrow, and I don't really know you. You could be a cannibal, I've read about them,” the boy says, raising a joking eyebrow that disappears as his feature give way to false seriousness. “ _Are_ you a cannibal?”

Aleks presses the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to keep down whatever's just decided to come back up, but his throat burns with acid and he leans forward into it. It's easier than trying to swallow it down, though unpleasant as he heaves up empty vomit onto the second stair to the top, the rain quickly helping get rid of it. A weight is lifted from his chest, providing some relief to his ribs, though it doesn't do as much as he would've hoped.

His eyes flicker up to the boy, the rain now heavier as it soaks Aleks’ hair to his head. He knows he must look awful, all bruised and bloodied and wearing clothes, that, aside from his jacket, are a bit worse for wear. Throwing up doesn't help his situation or pleading, either.

“Can't stomach human flesh eating jokes, got it.”

“Are you done?” Aleks snaps, his words not harsh- sharp and mumbled, a reflection of his state. “I live here, can you give me your hand or whatever?”

“Uh...”

“Don't be such a pussy, what?”

“Man, you kinda just, like, threw up? Sorry if I’m not gonna rush immediately to your side to help you, but that’s pretty gross. Also, I don’t even know your name. You could be a serial killer or something, and I had a shower an hour ago,” the boy says, and Aleks stares unimpressed.

“I'm Aleks.”

“Is that really all you got from what I said?”

Aleks takes a stubborn step forward, with the intent of making his way past this stranger and to his own door. Except, he stumbles, yelling out and barely managing to grab for the railing at the same time this boy moves forward to put his hands on either side of Aleks waist. It's a shock and the hands are warm against a small sliver of exposed flesh, Aleks’ breaths slowing as he regains his footing. He's not going to cry, not again, but he really wishes he could; if he was in his own apartment, he might. Or, he would shut the door and have a breakdown as Mishka and Ein watched tiredly from the bed.

His jeans stick to him with fresh, warm blood, his hands shaking as they grab instinctively back at the stranger in some kind of desperation. Aleks is grateful for the assistance, and relieved that he's not alone after what's been the shittiest start to his day in months, rivalled only by the day he woke up and James had disappeared. Gone. Capish. Aleks with hands curled into fists, nailing digging into palms, and trying to understand how their last conversation had led to him being abandoned here.

It's the exhaustion or the blinding headache or his own overwhelming fear of everything, but he moves awkwardly, tugging at this boy, and draws him into a hug. It's not James but it's something, and this boy carefully places his hands on the small of Aleks’ back and holds him up like he's worried he'll fall again and go right off the edge. Aleks is, above all else- the pain, the urge to collapse to the ground and cry until he can't anymore, the desire to call Brett and ask for an out- glad that he's not being pushed away or sworn at, and it's a small consolation that this action makes the stranger sigh and give in.

“My name’s Trevor,” he says, and Aleks closes his eyes against the bright lights of his open apartment door. “I don’t wanna make a bad habit of hugging weird men on balconies, in case you wanted to know. You hugged me first anyway, but--”

“Hey, first time for everything.”

“I'm trying to be nice, shut up.”

Aleks leans heavily against Trevor, aware of his own mess getting stuck to his clothes despite earlier protests to doing as much as grabbing Aleks’ hand when he asked. Trevor moves away, sliding an arm around Aleks’ waist, fingers prodding the skin further and earning a sharp intake from Aleks so instead settling at the bone of his hip; it hurts less, taking the weight off Aleks’ leg, and when he lets himself go limper, Trevor tightens his grip. It takes Aleks back to the days with James, bullet wounds and scars, and their arms around each other as they navigated the streets of their old city, how in that moment it was the two of them, no one else, and how tired Aleks’ eyes are as Trevor helps him onto a bed.

It’s Trevor’s bed, open textbooks sitting on it with a bright laptop, a cat asleep in the corner of the room far away enough that Aleks can’t quite make it out. He squints against the bright lamp on Trevor’s bedside table as the hand not holding onto Trevor presses against the bed to steady himself, a sharp pain shooting up his leg to his side, a shout torn from his throat.

“Ай!” Aleks manages.

“You speak Russian?” Trevor asks, and Aleks is almost grateful for the distraction of talk as Trevor helps lower him onto the bed. “That’s pretty exotic.”

“Excuse me?”

Trevor laughs and Aleks opens his mouth to inhale deeply, though it doesn’t fill his lungs the way he hoped it would. Something is very wrong, with his head and his eyes, and his leg, and every single thing that Kenny and his boys managed to get to after they’d chased Aleks into that alleyway and made sure he stayed down. He has half the mind to ignore his pounding brain, the way everything aches even as he’s not moving, and ask to bother this guy’s phone, to call James and yell at him until Aleks doesn’t want to cry anymore.

“I think you might have a concussion,” Trevor offers, helpfully, and Aleks looks weakly at him as he kneels to the ground, gentle fingers rolling up Aleks’ pant leg to get a good look at the injury there. It hurts, but Aleks manages to ignore- or, suffer- through it until Trevor’s done, worried eyes cast back up at Aleks and hands curled gently around Aleks’ leg. “What did you say happened again?”

“I was mugged,” Aleks shrugs, fabric of his jacket scraping together as he rests his arms on either side of himself, hands grasping the edge of the bed. “Took my phone, my keys. I have some cash, I guess, but nothing too major. Lost most of it when they got me. Pretty shit, dude.”

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to help with this, but there’s stuff in the bathroom that’d probably do, I guess. You’re gonna have to be patient, though,” Trevor explains, and Aleks’ understanding is provided with a small nod. “Your leg especially, the rest will heal on its own with sleep. You don’t have work or anything soon, do you? Might take a while.”

Aleks shakes his head, teeth chewing at his bottom lip as he ignores the taste of iron attached to it. It catches Trevor’s attention, enough that he meets Aleks’ eyes for a moment before he finally stands and makes for a blurry kitchen appliance sitting next to a sink. It’s a small place but around the same size as Aleks’ next door, decent for one person living on their own; it’s then that he takes the time to glance around, focusing on where photos and trinkets usually are but instead aren’t, dust layering the tops of desks and drawers, and a small cabinet to his right empty. So, either a runaway, or an orphan, or someone who’s not close to his family, though it’s never too easy telling which when you’ve only just met someone.

James gauged Aleks the moment they met, took one look at his dark hair pooled in a beanie and the hoodie obscuring his small frame, and read him like a fool. He had- _has_ \- a talent for it, one that he tried to teach Aleks, how to pick out clues and nothingness and make it something compelling, useful in their line of work. Being able to meet a potential hire and know everything there is to know about him in a manner of mere moments was always James’ strong suit, no matter how hard Aleks tried to replicate the ability with James’ help. He wishes now more than anything that he was better at it, except wishes a little more than he wasn’t in this situation to begin with.

“Ice,” Trevor says, and Aleks flickers his attention to the hand stretched out to him, the cold bag of ice held carefully in it. “For your lip, but it might work for your eye and your nose too, I think.”

“Thanks,” Aleks mumbles, jerking slight as he presses the frozen of the surprisingly numb ice to his lip. It’s more real than everything, the whole night and even now passing by like a dream and too out of focus for it to be his own, but up close he’s able to see the details in Trevor’s face, his fingers flicking open a first aid kit Aleks didn’t notice him grab. He’s young, though old enough to be in university or college, soft freckles visible across the bridge of his nose, not as much acne as Aleks would expect from someone who’s practically a teenager. It’s nice, the not being alone, so Aleks tries to keep as still as possible when Trevor asks him to.

It’s going to be a long night, for the both of them, and if Aleks’ suspicions are right, the sun will rise in a matter of hours. One or two, depending on how long it’s been since he dragged himself out of that alleyway onto the street at sometime past one in the morning. He’d like to be asleep by sunrise, if that’s possible with his injuries, and something tells him Trevor will let him know without him asking.

“Could be worse,” Trevor tries, glancing up at Aleks as if trying to initiate some kind of conversation that’s better than this overthinking silence. “It’s been raining heaps, you could still be out there.”

“Yeah, I’m actually trying not to think about that, thanks,” Aleks replies, a weak attempt at hiding the tremor from his voice failing almost immediately.

“...you said you lost your keys?”

Aleks’ leg shakes uncontrollably when Trevor presses too close to his injury, his voice strained as he says, “In the alley. Or the cab. I don’t know.”

“I have an exam at seven, you could stay here... if you want. Until the landlord’s around and you can call to tell him, just so you’re not sitting around in the rain. Waiting for hours.”

“Trusting a complete stranger with your possessions? A guy like you ought to know better, Trevor.”

Trevor laughs, and the sound echos unpleasantly through Aleks’ mind. In all fairness, most sounds right now are less than ideal, the way they go straight through to his headache and make the throbbing much worse than it was, intentionally or not. With Trevor, he’ll take an easy guess and say it’s accidental, and that Aleks wouldn’t mind it if it weren’t for the situation he’s in right now, with exhaustion amplifying every sound and emotion by ten, and making him want to claw off his own ears just for some relief from it all. It’s considerably worse than his eyesight, with the subtle ache behind his eyes, and how difficult it is to look in the distance without a flash of pain.

There’s not much to steal from Trevor’s, anyway. Now that Aleks is thinking about it, Trevor’s laugh is probably more in reference to the hopelessness of that than to Aleks’ words themselves, which is fine. Aleks isn’t in the position right now to go out of his way to make this guy his friend, though he wouldn’t complain about seeing him again; maybe it’s the exhaustion talking but he’s decent, would probably be more-so if Aleks wasn’t as completely out of it as he is, courtesy of what he heard Trevor refer to as a concussion.

Aleks knows what that is, he’d have to be stupid not to, but hearing it said is different to thinking about. He’d say it’s a pretty safe bet, considering the state he’s in.

“I’ve seen you ‘round before, it’s not like you don’t live here,” Trevor explains, movements pausing as he looks to Aleks for confirmation.

“Only for a couple weeks, until my friend James gets back,” Aleks affirms with his eyes sliding shut against his will. “He’s visiting some family in Colorado so I’m waiting. And waiting and waiting, apparently. He’s taking his time.”

His hands tighten in the sheets on Trevor’s bed as Trevor dabs at the wound in Aleks’ leg with something Aleks doesn’t bother to open his eyes to examine. He’s okay with not knowing, as long as it does the job and fixes him and he can go back to figuring out how he’s supposed to get James, and himself, out of this mess. Again, his hand reaches for a phone in his pocket that isn’t there, like he’ll be able to get it out and James might’ve messaged, or called, or made some kind of contact that doesn’t leave Aleks hopeless and lost. It’s ridiculous, that after all these years with James he’s finding it hard to adjust to being on his own again; no one to drag him out of the way or call for help or know he can go to if-- _when_ \-- things get bad.

Aleks isn’t going to cry (true), he’s not really the type (lie). He’d rather wait until his whole body doesn’t ache and he can shower, then he can pretend to yell at James as much as he wants and no one will know; no one but himself, shivering under the hot water and trying to piece together all the clues that led to this. Even when this is all over and he’s home, and James is there to drag him through gunfire to another beat up city, he won’t be able to stop thinking about tonight. He’s had worse but he was never alone for it, never screaming and choking in an alleyway outnumbered six to one and begging for some kind of help he knew he wouldn’t get.

James will be mad, when he finds out. When he returns soon and sees the shape Aleks is in, and has to listen to Aleks tell him what happened. A small recap, with burning eyes and shaking hands, and leaving details out on purpose because as bad as it was, James doesn’t need to know just how bad. That they chased Aleks for three blocks and he was faster but it was wet and he’d fallen, so that was on him, and he’d been stabbed for the first time, and he made it out of it alive but barely. Made it home but barely. He just wants things to go back to how they used to be, before he had a bounty on his head and was sitting on his neighbour’s bed getting his sheets bed and bloodied, and biting his tongue to disguise how much pain he’s in.

“Your friend will come back, he’d be pretty stupid not to.”

Aleks opens his eyes, ignores the way his eyes are heavier and his eyelashes reflect the light, and thinks about the colour of Trevor’s eyes when their gazes meet. He doesn’t realise he’s starting falling forward, almost collapsing on-top of Trevor, until there are warm hands, painted in a faint red, holding onto him, placed on either side of his body to keep him from falling onto the ground.

“Usually I’d say, like, don’t sleep but-- if you’re going to do it anyway, maybe you should. You can have my bed.”

“You don’t even know me, dude,” Aleks says, though upon hearing his own words said aloud, he can hardly make out the individual words. “What if I wake up and… kill you in your sleep or whatever?”

“...Were you thinking about doing that?”

“No.”

“Then I guess I’m not worried.”

**.**

#####  **november 1st, 2016.**

**.**  


It's a robbery this time.

A mugging; a hand around Aleks' throat as he tries to explain himself with desperate and failing breaths. His eyes are too blurry with tears to make out the face of the person with their fingers pressing tight against his windpipe, but Aleks can still tell that they're not one of Kenny's men. Not with their shaggy hair and old clothes, and the gloves on their hands that are too telling of who they are-- someone with no choice, who probably came Los Santos to make a name for themselves and instead ended up with nothing but the street for company.

Aleks would feel sorry for them, maybe, if they weren’t currently squeezing his life out of him. His new phone buzzes helplessly in his pocket, his hand instinctively reaching for it when the man, face pinched in worry, brandishes his knife and slices clean across Aleks’ wrist.

Aleks screams, throat raw and painful beyond belief, and uses the opportunity of the distraction of his phone dropping to the pavement to free himself. His uninjured hand grabs at the hand at his throat, nails piercing the flesh, and the man releases him too easily, the knife dropping to the ground and narrowly missing Aleks’ left foot. He doesn’t have time to even shove at the man or grab the knife to fight back before he’s standing alone, listening to the receding of uneven footsteps that Aleks is too exhausted to follow.

It starts to rain, because that’s Aleks’ luck.

His hair is a mess of dirt and a few days past its last wash, untidy where it was pushed about in the scuffle with the man, and Aleks doesn’t want to look at himself. It’s why he takes a deep breath and leans against the brick wall as he debates over what to do, one hand slick with blood as he presses his hand helplessly against the slice in his wrist on his other arm. It’ll heal, but for now it’s enough to debilitate him for a moment, fingers shaking as they dig softly into his flesh.

A cautionary look at his phone on the now wet, glistening pavement reveals the cracked screen, the droplets of blood collecting on it as it buzzes to life with another message.

From contact ‘unknown’: _Hi, A. It’s Lindsey, wondering how you’re doing and if you’re around in the area maybe we could catch up. Brett told me what happened with James, I hope you’re doing okay. Let me know. You have my number._

Aleks throws his head back, slowly sliding down the wall on unsteady feet. With his entire body trying not to get too caught up on the sickening amount of blood, he gently pulls his fingers away to get a good look at it; it’s not as deep as he thought, but it’s still hard to look at, the way the skin is pushed apart and the thick stream of something he’d rather not think about that’s covering the rest of his arm. He’s a mess, in almost every sense of the word, which makes it all the more difficult to find the motivation to stand up and go home

He grabs his phone first, looks at the missed call and Lindsey’s message, and makes a mental note to reply later. Right now, he’s about five minutes away from passing out and possibly dying in this alleyway, so he secures his phone in his pocket and begins the slow, careful walk home. What little cash he once had is gone, his phone is three days old and already pretty fucked, and every part of Aleks himself has definitely seen better days. If James were here-- big, big, _if_ , because he’d said he’d be back but Aleks hasn’t heard from him since he disappeared-- then this wouldn't be as hard. Getting beat up together was never hard, as long as they had each other to lean on; it’ll be a long while before Aleks gets used to being alone again, and part of him hopes he doesn’t have to.

His fridge was empty, that’s why he’d left his house to go to the store down the road and pick something up. Now he’s hungry and his stomach is unbelievably empty, and he’s as broke as a criminal living off stolen change can be. He’s five minutes away from home, then three, then none, then five seconds away from his apartment.

Naturally, he ends up at Trevor’s door.

He knocks, once, then twice, then raises his fist to knock for a third time when the door slowly opens. Trevor, half asleep with his hair messy enough to rival Aleks’, t-shirt hanging off his shoulder slightly that Aleks considers politely fixing before he remembers his blood-soaked hands. So, not the best idea, especially when Trevor’s eyes widen with sudden awakeness at Aleks’ arm, at the deep slice in his arm as the hand that left bloodied streaks on Trevor’s door shifts back to attempt to staunch the flow of blood. It’s definitely not a pretty sight, and the way Trevor doesn’t move or speak at first only proves that.

“Again?” he finally says, clearing his throat as he opens his door and steps aside to allow Aleks in. “You should be more careful, you know. That looks bad.”

Aleks doesn’t enter, and can hear Ein and Mishka next door barking curiously in his apartment. He looks at Trevor, who’s staring at Aleks’ wrist like the sight of it isn’t quite enough to make him sick but enough to make him uncomfortable, at the very least. It’s not good, but it’s not as bad as it could be, and something in Trevor’s face tells Aleks he knows that.

“Doesn’t exactly feel great,” Aleks admits, and Trevor winces. “You fixed me up last time, though, so I figured, you know, ‘hey, maybe my neighbour whose name I can’t remember will help me again this time.’”

“You really have to stop getting yourself bashed up, dude,” Trevor says, but still reaches a hand out to gently wrap his fingers around Aleks’ bicep as he slowly steers him into his apartment. “I don’t know who you pissed off, but you should try and- and make amends... or _something,_ you know, man. Just a suggestion.”

Trevor releases him and moves to close the door, the temperature in the apartment is much warmer, much more welcoming, than it was outside. It’s still raining, albeit barely, despite the week’s forecast saying it would be bright and sunny for the next few days. Which, in hindsight, is probably why Aleks didn’t see the need to wear his jacket, just a t-shirt and jeans, and the same sneakers he was wearing when Kenny and his men jumped him. He’s not as beat up as last time, but the scars and marks from it haven’t had the time to fade completely, and he’d waiver that he doesn’t look much improved after a few days.

This is only confirmed when he catches Trevor looking at him, eyebrows hidden under the hair sweeping across his forehead. It’s curious, maybe, but there’s an unsaid concern hidden in there too, beneath the softness of Trevor’s features and the slowness of his movements. He’s tired, awake though only just, and Aleks feels guilty for waking him up so early, especially considering the amount of open textbooks stacked up on Trevor’s bedside table. There’s already a first-aid kit sitting next to them, almost hidden, and similarly placed to where Trevor put it last time Aleks was here, before he fell asleep on his bed and dirtied his covers.

“Bathroom’s ‘round the corner, if you wanted to clean up,” Trevor offers, moving to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

Aleks nods and mumbles a thanks, suddenly aware of the blood he’s dripping onto Trevor’s carpet, and easily finds the bathroom. He used it a few days ago, when he was here last-- and also, first-- and not much has changed since then, like it would even have the time to. It’s tidy, unbelievably so, almost, and Trevor’s cat watches Aleks from where it’s sitting atop a wicker basket sitting in the corner of the bathroom adjacent to the bath. It meows, in wonderment, but Aleks manages to block it out as he admires his reflection in the mirror.

His dark hair is drying slowly but surely, flat but somehow fluffy where the water once in it has dripped down onto his clothes instead. He’s trying not to shiver, his arms stuck in the same position of bent at the elbow, held in front of him, one hand on the slice in his other arm. It’s not appealing, even in the slightest, and Aleks glances over at Trevor when he catches his movement in his peripheral.

“Thanks,” Aleks says, and Trevor fakes a smile. “For letting me use your stuff, and for not calling the cops. I appreciate it.”

“Want me to have a look at it?” Trevor asks, leaning against the door-frame with his arms folded over his chest. His hair’s flattened on one side, his glasses crooked and clumsily perched on his nose, and Aleks is more glad than he’d ever admit that Trevor opened the door tonight.

“You mind?”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Trevor, eyes staring straight and relentless at Aleks. It’s not quite as uncomfortable as Aleks would think, even though he gets shy and has to turn back to the mirror to avoid the intensity of Trevor’s gaze. “My stuff’s in that cupboard above your head, let me know when you’re ready.”

Aleks nods, and, when Trevor turns to leave to supposedly get something, wipes his face on the sleeve of his uninjured arm, hand still pressed tight against his wound. He has to get lucky eventually, has to stop being beat and thrown about, and get one good thing and be able to call it his.

 _James_ , he thinks, _where the fuck have you gone?_

**.**

#####  **november 3rd, 2016.**

**.**

Always wrong place at the wrong time, always somehow the chosen target for something Aleks hasn't decided if he deserves or not. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe the universe is getting some kind of payback on him for this life he chose to live and it's waiting for him to slip-- make one, simple, stupid mistake-- and die.

He moves back against the wall, spine hitting the bricks painfully, and has half the sense to curse some imaginary God for doing this to him. God, or whoever the fucked it was that decided Los Santos was a good place to abandon Aleks in; left him here all on his own in something that mirrors the ending of almost every friendship he's ever had. Very few begin with him injured, bleeding, on someone's bed as they watch curiously while Aleks tries not to pass out where he is. Not thinking about that is better than focusing on every single thing he did by dragging someone else into this; _Trevor_ , Aleks’ brain provides.

Again.

Dragging Trevor into this again, always a mess on his carpet and asking for help that he could easily find somewhere else but hasn't bothered to. He should, like Lindsey who's been messaging him for days and asking if he needs anything, but something in Aleks likes the anonymity, the awkwardness of getting to know one of the first normal people he's met in a long time.

He'll stop going to Trevor, and he'll call Lindsey, and he'll leave James a voicemail to curse him out for this, and he'll get his shit together. He's tired, so tired that eventually his feet slip a little and the suddenness of it takes the thug by surprise.

“I’ll get you, you little--”

Aleks manages to grab the hilt of their knife as they attempt to slide it into his gut, the bandaging on his left wrist battered by the rain and slowly unravelling as he twists the knife and presses it forward. It scraps ribs, their hands grabbing desperately at him as they cough, blood splattering his wet cheeks and the weight of their body leaning forward against him, forcing the knife in deeper, is enough to make him stumble unsteadily on his feet. He sways on his feet but keeps his ground, and they curse at him while spitting red onto his shirt.

Aleks hasn’t killed anyone in years, but he’s used to seeing it happen-- used to almost being murdered just for existing on the streets of Los Santos. And, God, he’s tired, eyes painfully forced open as he lowers them to the concrete, his hands red and shaking. The rain will wash away prints, hopefully, but he still reaches down to retrieve the knife where it’s buried in their stomach, wiping it on his jeans before hiding it in the lining of his jacket.

The rain will wash away prints, and the blood, and clean him in the minutes it takes for him to signal a taxi and get a ride home. It does, though he’s soaked to the bone by the time a taxi stops to let him in, an older driver behind the wheel asking for an address that Aleks easily gives, ignoring the weight of the body he’s still feeling despite its presence back in an alleyway next to an out of business pizza restaurant.

He passes a wad of cash to the driver when the car comes to a stop outside his place, opening the door to a lack of rain but the light on in Trevor’s place. Aleks doesn't need to go to him. He doesn't, really, because he's not injured, and he was there yesterday already for a wound that's healing fast thanks for Trevor's help.

What Aleks does need, though, is a distraction. He doesn't want to-- _can't_ \-- go back to his own place and pretend everything's okay. He needs a friend, or a neighbour who will no doubt allow him in and check him over. He needs something to fill the blank in time between now and when he has to lie down for sleep, one that won't be easy if it even comes.

The stairs are wet, his hand grabbing onto the railing just in case, and he knocks on Trevor’s door before he can think better of it.

Aleks doesn't have to wait long before Trevor opens the door, hair pushed away from his face; the glasses resting on his nose doing a poor job of hiding the painful exhaution under his eyes.

Aleks smiles weakly, bloody and stretching muscles that ache too much.

“Please tell me that’s yours,” Trevor says, eyeing the washed out blood on Aleks’ shirt, and Aleks wants to cry for what it’s worth. It not being his is worse than if it is.

When he says it is and Trevor sighs and steps aside to let him in, he wonders if he should’ve lied.

**.**

#####  **november 4th, 2016.**

**.**

Aleks wakes up in Trevor's bed instead of his own, his bloodied clothes drying over the side of Trevor's kitchen counter and visible to Aleks’ sleep-weary eyes. Aleks allows his bones to crack and ache for a tired minute before he slowly slides himself out of the covers to grab his phone off the table beside him to check the time.

His phone buzzes when he picks it up, and he glances at the screen, something akin to anxiety tightening in his chest for little reason.

From contact 'Linds’: _Call if you get into trouble. I hate to think of you getting injured and not having anywhere to go. You remember what Brett said, you know he'd take you in if you needed it._

Aleks stares but doesn't reply, because he also knows what Brett used to say about civilians getting involved and that he probably wouldn't be too happy about Trevor. But, it's Los Santos, and no one here is exactly innocent of everything, even if part of Aleks thinks Trevor might very well be just a kid who got dragged into this city and couldn't get out. A runaway or an orphan or just independent, looking for somewhere cheap to stay and finding his way here.

Aleks has never been good at convincing himself of anything, which is why he’s still in Trevor’s apartment when he told himself days ago he would try not to do this. _Exactly_ this; getting close, relying on and spending the night at a place of someone whose life still remains an unfinished puzzle in his head. It’s bad, probably, and Aleks doesn’t want to dwell on it for too long because he knows exactly what Brett, Lindsey, and James would have to say about it.

Don't get close, that's what they'd say. Lindsey wouldn't tell him to stay away like James would, or to pack his shit and not make contact again like Brett would, but her face’d portray disappointment and _holy shit,_ that's so much worse than anything James or Brett could every say. It'd make Lindsey a hypocrite to tell Aleks he was wrong to keep going to Trevor, because they all remember years ago when she told them she looked after herself then they found out she didn't. Or, really,it was James who went to her place and found the front door open, bloody fingerprints on it, and Lindsey had been inside getting stitched up by a civilian doctor.

James swore up and down he wasn't mad, though his folded arms and too calm tone gave him away. Don't get involved with civilians is a pretty standard rule, especially with someone like Anna, even if they all forgave Lindsey and Anna started hanging around after.

Aleks could never do that. Have Trevor around his other friends, let those two worlds collide. Trevor would find out all the horrible things Aleks has done to survive and then he'd run. Aleks wouldn’t even be mad, because that would be a pretty standard reaction to it; to learning that the guy he knows-- who he's let into his own apartment, who he's allowed to sleep in his own bed-- has murdered more people than he will probably save in his first few years as a doctor, when he eventually graduates from college.

People usually assume it's Brett who does the killing because of his size, or James because of his easy rage, but Aleks would waiver easily that he's killed more than both of them combined. He's only ever killed bad people; the ones that had it coming. But, Jordan had this stupid anecdote about how if you kill a killer, there's still the same amount of killers in the world, and Aleks has never forgotten it.

Stupid fucking Jordan. Stupid fucking moral compass.

He'd know what to do, though, about Kenny and James and Trevor. He would. If Aleks had the option, maybe he’d leave Los Santos and find Jordan, apologise and ask for his help even though it's been years and the last Jordan saw of Aleks and James was their backs as they left. If Aleks had any option, he'd leave Los Santos and find an old friend who would take him in like Dan or Jordan or Geoff, all of which Aleks hasn’t seen in so long that the thought of visiting them with a target on his back is awkward. They’d take him in, probably, even though he’d always be too proud to actually go to them and ask for anything. Which, he knows is ridiculous. Which, is almost exactly why he can’t message Lindsey or Brett and tell them what’s happening.

They'd clean up his mess like he's a child and ruffle the hair on his head, and he'd pack his things and leave without a thank you or a goodbye. He's fucked up too many things with too many good people to consider ever going to them for help, whether or not he might possibly die over this. He'll deal with it, like he always does; grit his jaw and take as many punches as he can, just like he always does. People can say what they want about him but he's never shied away from a fight, even if James was telling him to because it was pointless or stupid or would likely get him killed.

“Learn to stop, yeah?” James would say, and Aleks would shake his bloodied knuckles and nod without a word.

Aleks never learned to stop, which is part of the reason he's where he is now. He told himself he'd stop coming to Trevor's and he'd stop putting him in danger yet somehow he's here, waking up in his bed, and Trevor is sitting at a desk with his back to Aleks, and it hasn't been long since Aleks woke up with someone else around but it still feels like too long. Trevor looks calm, an insult to Aleks’ dangerously fast heart, and his hands are shaking as he tucks his phone away into his pocket, ignoring yet another message from Lindsey.

“‘Morning,” he tries, voice deeper than intended and rough from sleep.

“Oh, hey,” Trevor says, tugging his headphones down as he turns to Aleks, startled. “Didn't think you were gonna wake up, man.”

“Yeah, me _fuckin’_ neither, dude.”

“... How's your arm?”

“Uh, it's good, thanks.”

“That's good,” Trevor replies, and Aleks doesn't dare interrupt the silence they find themselves buried in. It's not entirely unpleasant, just awkward, and it's only when Trevor sighs and says, “Wanna get some breakfast?”, that Aleks can breathe alright again.

He goes next door to his own apartment to shower, ignoring the sting of healing injuries and how dirty he is and how exhausted he looks. A shower will help, hopefully, but he stares at his reflection as he shakes his wet hair and it hasn't, really. He's as much a mess as he's always been, just even more now because his best friend dumped him into a really shitty situation and left him to handle it helplessly on his own. Always a mess, yet somehow a bigger mess now he's older. Older, more capable, more used to this world; not as rich as he was when he was running with Jordan and the others, but Lindsey says that happiness is real wealth and maybe she's right.

Maybe she's right and Aleks has been poor his whole life.

He drags himself to put on what few clean clothes he has left, feeds his dog and the one that James was sadder to leave behind than he was Aleks, and leaves.

Trevor is waiting, eyes bright and youthful, and Aleks feels the tiniest bit richer upon seeing him. He's able to conjure up a genuine smile for the first time in weeks, which only falters when they've barely walked halfway back to their apartments after having breakfast at a diner a few blocks away and it begins to rain. And when Trevor offers Aleks his jacket with a look that says he really does want him to take it, Aleks accepts.

One more day to get Kenny's money; this one afternoon before tomorrow to enjoy being around someone who doesn't want to kill him, and hope his injuries heal overnight before they're almost definitely worse after tomorrow. If he lives through it, that is.

Well, when it rains, it fucking pours.

**.**

#####  **november 5th, 2016.**

**.**

A week.

One week, Kenny said.

And despite Aleks’ best attempts to avoid them and hide himself from their view as he traverses the street on his own, they find him.

Cornered in an alley, back pressed to a padlocked chain fence, thunder booming ominously overhead as he stares at the phone that slipped out of his pocket. He’s wearing Trevor’s jacket, the one he loaned him yesterday that Aleks forgot to give back and Trevor forgot to ask for back, and Aleks is more worried about ruining it than he is about what Kenny and his men are going to do to him. He doesn’t have the money-- he barely has half, and he’ll take a shaky guess that it won’t be enough-- and he remembers quite clearly what they said last time.

_“If James doesn’t get me that money, then you’ll wish you were dead. You think this was bad this time, next time I’ll kill you. Then, when I find out where James is hiding, I’ll send pieces of you to him until he has no choice but to pay me back…. Next time I see you and I don’t have my money, this will be the first thing I break. Then your nose, then your toes and your fingers, then whatever I can get while you’re writhing in pain…”_

Well, shit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Aleks manages, intelligently, taking a step back and hitting the fence. The heavy lock on it clings to the metal of the fence, reminding Aleks that he has no way out of this, and he finds that when he goes to move again, he’s frozen where he is. It’s no use, really, but he’d like the option of trying to escape even if he dies doing it; it’d be better than standing here, letting them win because he’s too much of a coward to at least _try_ to do something.

More men pour around the corner, Aleks’ mind connecting the familiarity of their faces to last week with Kenny. Them, with steel-toed boots and hard knuckles, pushing and punching and kicking Aleks down despite his attempts to drag himself up. A sea of ten or so men, the knowing of Aleks being trapped reflected in their smiles, and they part to reveal an even more familiar face.

“Been a while, Immortal, I trust you’ve been good,” Kenny says, approaching Aleks with a hateful grin on his lips, showing all his teeth. His voice is loud in Aleks' ear, the shape accent cutting through the ominous silence of the dead end Aleks has foolishly trapped himself at. “Out there working very hard to get me my money, yes? Unless, you haven’t…” he continues, the streetlamp behind him working its way through the shadows to illuminate the knife hidden briefly from sight in his hands. “-- I’d be _very_ grateful if you just tell me right now, Marchant. Save my men and I the trouble of finding out for ourselves.”

Aleks swallows his nerves, eyes watching Kenny’s fingers tighten around the handle of his blade. The men around him are antsy, their gazes boring into Aleks as he attempts to block them out and focus on Kenny instead; he never does the dirty work, but the weapon in his hand is unnerving enough that Aleks wonders if he’ll break his own rules this one time.

“You spoken to James recently?” Kenny asks, interrupting Aleks’ nervous train of thought. “It _really_ doesn’t look like he’s planning to come back, does it? So, you know, maybe you should just tell me you don’t have my money and I can get you of the way and deal with him, hmm?”

His knife is more visible, his men taking confident steps forward as Aleks observes them, the way they’re trying not to seem too eager to deal with him. He’s going to die, maybe, almost definitely, and it stings more than it should that he won’t be able to call James and throw this in his face, ask him what was so important that he had to leave Aleks here to fend for himself. Aleks can’t call Brett or Lindsey, because this is too much for even them to handle, and he can’t call Steven because he has his own crew now and they’re somewhere on the far away streets of San Francisco.

He’ll call Trevor, if he survives this. He’ll get his phone and he’ll call Trevor--

“James really doesn’t seem to care, does he?”

Overhead, light rain begins to fall. It flickers past the light near the end of the alley, the opposite of where Aleks is, his back pressed as close as possible to the fence behind him. He's stuck, and if this was any other time, if James was still here, Aleks would be whisked away already; effectively saved from the certain death he's managed to stumble into. It's right here and right now, watching one gentle raindrop after another hit the ground in front of his, that Aleks realises that  he might be too tired to fight back this time.

Fighting back wouldn't help much with this, didn't even help with only one guy the last time Aleks was jumped, but he wouldn't mind the idea of going down with as much of a fight as he could put up. He also isn’t carrying any weapon at all, not since the other night when he’d tossed it onto the ground below his apartment before going to Trevor for help, worried about a dead man’s blood staining his shirt and really, really not thinking straight. If he manages to live through this, he’s as good as dead anyway; Kenny will give him another deadline that Aleks won't be able to meet, and he won’t stop until Aleks has paid the price for what James has done.

His phone mocks him from where it's resting face down on the concrete next to one of Kenny's henchmen's foot. He can’t see it properly but he can see the blue light coming from it, the screen lit up, and prays that Kenny doesn’t notice it’s there. It’s probably Lindsey again, and Aleks would rather not drag her into his and James’ mess like they seem to have a habit of doing.

“I have half,” Aleks offers, his voice sounding foreign to himself. “Give me another week and I’ll get you the rest. One week for ten grand isn’t enough.”

“We have a deal,” Kenny says slowly. His knife retreats back to where it was, safe and no longer pointed threateningly at Aleks. “But, you remember what I said last week. One week or I have to make you pay for the fucked up shit your pal James pulled, and I don’t know about you, but I intend to keep every promise I make. And I’m definitely keeping this one.”

Aleks doesn't have time to argue or fight back, frozen still where he's standing as one of Kenny's men steps forward. The nod from Kenny is as good as an order for him to move closer and closer, rapidly closing the distance between himself and Aleks.

Aleks feels the wetness of his own blood before he feels the wound, legs shaking underneath him as an unmistakable red soaks through his shirt and down his jeans, to the barely rained on dark concrete of the alley. The shock of pain hits him in full force the moment he lifts a callous hand to press on the wound, pressing on it too roughly, and his brain panics as the realisation that he might bleed out here alone dawns on him.

“Can you do me a favour?” Kenny says, his voice distorted to Aleks’ ears. “Die here. Save me the trouble of tracking you down again and again and a- _fucking_ -gain, and just die here. It’s really the best option for the both of us, if you ask me.”

The rain makes translucent dots in the blood coated on Aleks' trembling hands, as Kenny stares, and Aleks is too frozen to look away from his eyes. There's an uncomfortable stretch of silence where Aleks thinks they might finish him off, once and for all, though it passes easily when Kenny turns to leave, snapping his fingers as an order for his men to do the same. The one standing next to Aleks’ phone kicks it slightly but doesn’t notice, and Aleks attempts not to collapse to the ground helplessly as he takes the first of many steps towards it. The screen lights up again, and Aleks almost laughs at how tragic this all is.

There's a loose rock in the ground; his left foot gets caught on it, sending his body straight to the ground. It hurts, a sharp and almost unbearable pain that shocks a cry out of him. One of his hand is placed carefully over the cut on his chest, while the other breaking his fall, and that hurts more somehow, jarring his wrist and causing him to claw his fingers around his still too tender wound.

It's really, really hard not to cry right now, when the world and his own body are both giving him too many reason to, but he needs to call someone. He needs to call Lindsey, because she's told him he could, and if he's crying, she'd drop everything instantly to go to him, and he wouldn’t be able to handle the guilt of knowing she cares that much.

Aleks drags himself to his phone, his knees forming painful friction where it's making constant contact with the ground through his jeans. It's still nothing compared to the bleeding cut on his chest, though, as his fingers grapple desperately for his phone before he’s finally able to move it further towards himself and pick it up.

From contact 'Trev’: _You home? Your lights are off so idk. But my exam for tomorrow is postponed and also you still have my jacket so dinner? or a movie. or we could walk your dogs??_

If this was any other time, Aleks would laugh and make a joke about Trevor using him to get to the dogs. Except, he’s _this_ close to bleeding out and his hand dials Trevor’s number before he can gather the mind to convince himself otherwise. It's a bad idea, he realises as the dial tone plays, too hazy from blood loss to even care anymore; Trevor's dealt with this-- with _him_ \-- too much already, and they've got a good thing going on, and now, Aleks is going to ruin it by almost dying, again.

“Aleks?” Trevor says, and Aleks half-sighs, half-cries in relief. “You get my message, dude? Uh, where are you?”

“Trevor, hey,” Aleks tries, and the break and strain in his voice are too obvious to miss.

“...Aleks?” On the other end, Aleks can hear Trevor moving about, the television in the background pausing as silence fills Trevor’s room. Aleks can’t breathe, as he usually can’t when he hears that tone in someone’s voice; something about hearing it in Trevor’s, knowing he’s worried, is worse than anything else.

“I need your help.”

“Where are you?” Trevor asks, badly masked concern and terror filling his words. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll-”

It's raining harder now, and it's difficult to tell where Aleks' blood ends and the rain water begins. He can feel a pool of both underneath his body, a sick mixture of something warm, for a short second, before cooling to match the harsh temperature of the night.

Trevor's voice is distant in his ear, soothing Aleks and asking him questions that are answered more on auto-pilot than actual consciousness. The name of the street, his condition-- one open wound on his chest, too many chances of bleeding out-- and how sorry he is for calling.

"Don't be sorry, okay? Just stay where you are, stay on the phone with me. I'll-- I'll be there soon. Don't hang up, alright? Aleks, please, say something, let me know you're still there."

Aleks finds it's too easy to obey. He doesn't know what much to say, whatever comes to his mind first. He's babbling at this point, about his dogs, wondering out loud if Trevor could feed them for him, if he dies tonight, in this dark alley, all alone.

A car driving past cuts off Trevor's respond, its bright lights scorching Aleks' eyes and emphasizing the headache pouding at the back of his head. Distant sirens distract him from whatever Trevor's saying next, and he should listen more carefully, he should. But he thinks he might be dying, and _fuck James_ and--

“...Trev?”

Chaos blares on the other end of the call: quick, panicked breathing, car horns beeping and tires screeching. Trevor' voice is almost static through it all, saying, "Yeah, Aleks?"

Aleks' phone screen is covered with blood streak when he takes it from his ear, smeared over by the rain pouring from above, freshly lit up with a new message from Lindsey that Aleks can barely make out. The letters and words on the cracked and dirty screen blur into each other, making it that more difficult for Aleks' murky mind to decipher. The messages are still there, though, clear as day, and Aleks feels his insides twist and churn.

(1) From contact 'Linds’: _Please please please let me help you. I don't like knowing you're out there all on your own. Please._

(2) From contact 'Linds’: _remember when Aron died? On his own? Don't let that be you._

Aleks wipes his fingers clumsily on his jacket, which isn't his technically; it's Trevor’s, whose voice is still coming from Aleks' phone speaker, muffled and too faint to make out what he's saying. Aleks tries to focus on that, on Lindsey’s messages, on the words blurring themselves before his eyes, because anything is better than the sickening red of his blood staining his hand where the rain couldn’t wash away. Anything is better than the pain on his side, or how dull it is compared to what he's imagined dying would feel like. Surely, the look on Jordan's face, or not having received anything from James by now, or Lindsey's constant concern, or the fact that Aleks keeps dragging Trevor into this, knowing full well that he shouldn’t… surely, all those things hurt worse than the splintered wound in his side.

Trevor's jacket is near ruined, and his voice still creates white noise for Aleks' foggy mind, as he tries hard to recall a conversation from yesterday that he didn't think he'd be bringing back up again in a situation like this.

“I owe you dinner after this, right?” he jokes- _tries_ to. “Or, shit, a blowjob or something, right?”

Trevor laughs, and it calms something in Aleks despite how forced and distracted it sounds. “Dinner sounds fine. Dinner's good. Just keep talking, okay? I think I'm almost there.”

Aleks nods absently, words too hard to find, paying as much attention as his consciousness would allow to the sound of Trevor’s voice. It's soothing, reassuring, to know that he's not alone when he very easily could be, that someone-- Trevor, his mind helpfully provides-- is coming to get him, and that Trevor cares enough to even do so.  Aleks will be alright, he thinks, Trevor will find him and fix him up and he'll be alright again. Then he can apologise for dragging Trevor out of bed so many times for him and his penchant for trouble; they're still strangers, in a way, and Aleks hasn't made a good enough introduction to deserve all of this.

Lost in thought, Aleks completely misses the car drawing to a stop at the front of the alley, the quick footsteps in puddles leading towards him, and the person coming into view and blocking the lone street lamp overhead. The person begins to lean down and reach for Aleks, and if Aleks could feel beyond the pain spreading out across his body and the dullness of dying, he'd be scared of what's going to happen to him now. Dying alone is bad enough, being robbed as he's dying must be a new record for the shitty things that have happened to Aleks over the years.

But the person leans down closer and closer, and Aleks feels a wave of relief rush through him, over the churning and burning of his insides, because it's Trevor. Trevor, whose expression is an unbalance mix of worry and confusion, shaky hands carefully reaching for Aleks. Aleks can see the uncertainty in his movement, before his hands settle on Aleks' shoulder, helping Aleks roll over onto his back, disregarding of the blood soaked everywhere.

"S-shit, Aleks," Trevor manages, exhaling loudly as his eyes catch the hand Aleks has wrapped around his wrist. Some of the panic settles behind his eyes as they catch Aleks', along with the unspoken things, too many to bring up now considering the circumstances.

“Hey,” Aleks rasps, “wasn't sure you were gonna show.”

Trevor sighs, moving one hand as if wanting to move the hair sticking to Aleks' face by the rain water. Something flashes across his eyes, though, too quick for Aleks' half-conscious mind to catch, and Trevor pulls his hand back. Aleks wants to regret this for a few reasons, though dragging Trevor, who is much nicer than Aleks thinks he's ever been in his entire life, makes the top of the list. He should do something about this, either give Kenny the money that Aleks doesn't have right now, or call James or Lindsey and Brett or Steven, or stop whatever this is.

Now is a bad time to think about it, really, because Trevor moves closer and starts lifting Aleks as carefully as he can, and Aleks thinks dying here probably wouldn't be so bad. It'd be easy, just like Kenny said.

Except, Trevor says, “Aleks?” and Aleks puts one foot in front of the other and walks. Walks, while simultaneously screaming through gritted teeth and nearly dragging Trevor down to the wet ground with him. “Lower abdomen, punctured intestine-- you have about an hour before… dude, you have to go to a hospital. There's no way I can take care of you on my own with the way you are. You look like shit.”

Aleks’ legs are dragging themselves across the floor alongside Trevor, dark hair falling jagged and wet across his forehead, protecting his eyes from the too bright of car lights and street lamps. He's had worse, he tries to tell himself, and it's a little too late now to think about how he should've called for anyone else instead of Trevor. Anyone else like Brett, or Lindsey, who would understand; they'd scowl, and grumble something inaudible under their breath but they would understand. No hospital, no doctors or police or witness, not with the life they're leading along with the trouble Aleks has found himself in. Brett always told them to have someone around for situations like this, and Aleks hates that this is the position he’s forced Trevor into.

“Can you give it a shot, at least?”

Trevor stares, trepidation twisting his features with youthful wrinkles that Aleks hasn't noticed yet. Still, despite the untrusting and unsure look on his face, he nods, though the very act of agreeing to Aleks’ pleading appears to go against every other part of Trevor.

“Your sympathetic nervous system kicked in, I think?” Trevor, fingers tight where they're gripping Aleks’ side. “The weapon was removed, you might go into shock… There’s a lot of blood here, Aleks.” Trevor pauses, glances at Aleks with consideration before adding, “You’re lucky to be alive.”

“I… don’t feel very lucky,” Aleks says, and Trevor winces at the way his body crumples that little bit further as he tries to keep himself upright. There is a lot of blood but Aleks has been shot and stabbed before, albeit less severely, and he has enough trust in Trevor to believe he’ll be okay as long as they can get Aleks somewhere better than this alleyway. Nowhere is more ideal than the hospital, but they don’t have the luxury of visiting there even if they absolutely needed to. Aleks can’t, he just _can’t_.

Trevor takes an experimental step forward and Aleks barely manages to sway with him, eyes focused a little too much on the rain and the car with its engine still hot parked on the street not too far away.

He doesn’t remember Trevor having a car, but there are probably a lot of things he doesn’t know about Trevor. He knows Trevor’s nice, and helpful, and squeamish even though he’s one of the best people Aleks has had the displeasure of being stitched up by. Aleks also knows that Trevor likes dogs, and the occasional bad soap opera, and that despite the short period of being almost-friends, they feel responsible for each other. Aleks hates himself for doing this to Trevor, who’s barely an adult and also far kinder than he has any business being, though he’s not sure how to stay away from him now. Almost dying on a few occasions in the company of a person makes it hard to completely forget about them; Aleks is tired, and bleeding, and every step kills, but Trevor is a warm, reliable object to rest against.

It doesn’t do much to numb the pain, really. Nothing will, unless it’s death or really strong painkillers, or sleep that will be hard to find. Kenny will hear he’s alive and he’ll kill him or send someone to kill him, and Aleks can’t risk that they’ll find Trevor then, too. Just Aleks, only Aleks. No one else.

Some days, he still remembers the incident with Joe and Aron, and how Jordan’s hands couldn’t stop shaking when he told them what had happened. James, more pissed off than Aleks has seen him, willing to start a fight with anyone because he was just _so_ angry, and when Jordan had found Aron’s body, still warm but gone, and he’d been trying to dial James’ number.

“That can’t be you,” James had said, hands too tight on Aleks’ arms. “Promise me that’ll never be you, Aleksandr. You have to fuckin’ promise me, man.”

Aleks had, and it’s why he couldn’t call James just then, or why so many times in the past he’s dragged himself to a dingy public bathroom to tidy himself up instead of going back to James half-dead. Because he promised. And in this line of work, you always keep your promises; Aleks never promised Jordan he wouldn’t leave and then he left, he never promised Lindsey he’d call and he hasn’t, he never promised Trevor he wouldn’t die on him so maybe someday he will.

James promised he’d come back, if Aleks remembers right, which is the only thing that keeps him going, and has been the main motivator for not dying. Aleks can’t die while James is gone, can’t risk dialling his number while almost gone and James begging him to stay, or saying he’ll come to him despite both of them knowing he can’t because he’s far away. He’s so far away. So, so far away.

But he said he'd come back. He _said_ he would.

“Who’s James?” Trevor manages to ask, right before Aleks’ feet and mind slip away from him, and he falls. And falls. And falls. And his entire world goes dark, but not before something flashes in his mind- an entire lifetime on his own, years drinking to find relief, years with James, these past few days with a boy whose jacket he's probably completely fucked.

 _A friend_ , Aleks tries to say, then, a desperate, half-gone, _Trevor!_ as he collides with the concrete.

He blanks out just before he makes impact.

**.**

#####  **november 5th, 2016 - afternoon.**

**.**

Aleks expects to wake up dead, or in his own bed. Most definitely not with his shirt and pants off, in a bath he slowly identifies as Trevor's. It takes his eyes far too long to adjust, and once they do, he wishes they hadn't - there's blood everywhere, _his_ , and most of his clothes are sitting in a wet pile beside the sink, looking well beyond ruined. It doesn't feel right, staring at Trevor in the doorway with his back to him, dressed in the watery red of Aleks’ blood, unable to say anything or even make a noise to let Trevor know he's awake.

That's when his ears stop ringing and he's able to recognise the sound of the television, a news program that he very easily realises is detailing crime in Los Santos. Aleks’ stomach curls up inside of him, trying to ignore his shaking nerves that have nothing to do with getting stabbed and everything to do with having to explain to Trevor the truth behind all of this.

Aleks is a criminal and he's wanted by some extremely horrible rich crime bosses who pretty much run all this shit, and it's because his friend - the one he said was out of town - stole from them and left Aleks here to sort it out on his own. And, when he seventeen, he shot someone for the first time. He abandoned his first crew because he got tired of them and their ways of running things, and now he's ignoring what few people he has, like Lindsey, because he's a shitty person.

 _That night,_ Aleks can almost hear himself say, _when I showed up on your doorstep, all bloody? I told you it was mine and you had no reason to believe me but you did? You fuckin’ did, Trevor. And it wasn't mine._

It might be easier to just tell Trevor that he's too good for Aleks; that he's kind and caring, smart, resourceful, funny, easy-going, naive, attractive, and a list of other things that Aleks can only ever hope to be. Anything would be easier than telling Trevor the real truth, even if having to look him in the eye and say something very true about Aleks’ inability to measure up to him would hurt. So much. It'd be easier than admitting to every horrible thing he's done, like leaving that guy for dead in that alley then going to Trevor, feigning innocence.

“Your friend Lindsey called,” Trevor says, suddenly, without even turning around. The shock of his voice and the words he's saying are enough to quicken Aleks’ heartbeat, so loud he can hear it pulsating in his ears as if it doesn't belong to him.

_Please say you didn't pick up, please say you didn't pick up, Trevor fucking please say you d -_

“I answered it, Aleks. I spoke to her.”

“And?”

“I asked about you.”

Aleks’ heart stops. “... And?”

Trevor doesn't speak, instead lets the news drone on in the background, a cheery news reporter saying something about crime rates. Aleks has participated in those a lot recently, between random encounters on the streets to Kenny to robbing gas stations and small stores to try and earn the fortune back that James stole. Aleks has had a relatively big part in criminal activity recently, and the way Trevor has his shoulders hunched says he knows. He knows and he's waiting for Aleks to admit to it, to apologise, to explain himself.

Aleks isn't going to, not to Trevor. He wanted a clean, fresh slate with one person, to be Aleks and not Immortal, and he can't even have something as simple as that. He wanted this one thing with Trevor, and the option to keep it good and safe for as long as he possibly could without it being ruined by reality.

Everything hurts, from his toes frozen by the ice packs sitting on them, to his sensitive eyes, to previously attained injuries, to where a knife entered his chest sometime early this morning, to knowing what little he had with Trevor is gone. Everything has gone to hell, which is almost laughably predictable, or would be, if Aleks hadn't been so sure that he could keep things good between him and Trevor. He never needed to know the truth about Aleks, and he never needed to be dragged into this, and Aleks is so sorry that he's almost sick at the very thought of it.

“I was going to, like, kick you out. Until you were ready to explain yourself or whatever, about… everything.”

“There's a lot to explain,” Aleks rasps, a splayed hand resting against his chest where Trevor's done what he could to keep him alive. Trevor's a miracle worker, more like. No medical student should be this good, it's almost unfair to all the others who haven't had a criminal to patch up and consistently save. From the brink of death this time, maybe. Or maybe it just felt that way in the moment, having to make peace with dying because suddenly the reality of it was too real.

“I do think you should go, Aleks. Until you wanna talk,” Trevor says, and shatters what little calm Aleks had left.

The one person who trusted him, who he got to start over with and be himself around, whose tub he's bleeding into or at least _was_ , and what small foundations they'd built together are gone. They're all gone, and it's only been a week but Aleks needed this. He needed this so fucking bad and now it's gone, after how hard he worked to be Trevor's friend, to buy him breakfast yesterday and make jokes, and laugh like he hasn't with someone who isn't James in years.

How did he do this wrong?

“Yeah, okay, dude,” Aleks replies, but doesn't attempt to move. Just wipes his damp face against his hand and tries to piece this together in his head, to imagine he's gotten up pain free and he's already back in his apartment with Mishka and Ein, and things aren't fine but he can mourn that loss in private. Not here, not in Trevor's bathtub.

What's truly funny is that this is his fault, no matter how much he wants to say it's James’ for leaving, or Lindsey's for not telling him the real reason she couldn't let Anna go, or Brett for not preparing him more for a situation like this, or Trevor for being so goddamn naive and willing to help. It's no one’s fault but Aleks’, and just like always, he's the only one around to pick up the pieces and force them together to make a not-quite-right finished product. Which, is what his brain is quietly doing right now, coming up with a plan he really has no say in.

He'll get rid of his apartment, take his dogs - they're his now, he's had them for a week and they're his until James comes back, if he does - and stay at James’ place, even though he told him not to. They'll have already checked there and found it empty, Aleks severely doubts they'll check again a week later.

If James is back in Los Santos, they'd know. Oh, they'd know. Someone, an informant of sorts, would tell him about the kind of trouble Aleks has been having, and Kenny will know. James ran the first time but he has to come back, and like Aleks, he doesn't take too lightly to people beating up his best friend. Aleks has gotten plenty of blood on his hands for paying back what trouble people have caused James, and James has done a fair amount of damage himself to people who have tried to take Aleks.

Loyalty, it's all they've got left. Loyalty and each other, though Aleks feels like both are running out.

Trevor turns to Aleks, then, and Aleks turns away to avoid catching whatever truth lies in his eyes. “Look, Aleks, man, I don't want you to leave but - “

“I get it,” he says, and it's true. “I’ll get my things and get out of your hair. Don't worry about it.”

Neither of them mention the fact that Aleks still doesn't move, and Trevor audibly winces when Aleks wipes his hand at his wet face and it leaves a small streak of blood on his cheek. Aleks doesn't react to it, or to Trevor taking a cloth and walking slow as though he's scared of being shoved back or told to leave. He sits on the side of the tub, his free hand pressing gently under Aleks’ chin to get him to lift his head; he does, and whether or not he's a mess doesn't show in Trevor's expression.

“I just - want the truth. You understand that… right?”

Aleks closes his eyes and doesn't reply, focuses instead on how gentle and quiet Trevor is as he wipes away the blood and tears that he doesn't bring up. Aleks is so exhausted he isn't sure if he'd have the energy to properly cry, but a few tears slipped out between now and waking up a few moments ago, and Trevor is kind enough not to mention their presence.

He pulls his arm away slowly, but his fingers placed delicately on Aleks’ face don't waiver. Aleks opens his eyes straight into Trevor's, into the tired warm brown of them, into how obvious it is that Trevor hasn't slept because he's been trying to make sure Aleks didn't pass away in his tub, into how breathtaking he is but especially up close. But, Aleks can't, he can't, so he moves away and tries to shakily stand, pushing away Trevor's helpful hand.

“You've done enough,” he mumbles, aware of how bare his body is save for his boxers, and steps over the side of the tub with assistance from the wall to retrieve his ruined clothes. He wonders if Trevor's jacket is alright, if that's why it's not here or if that's because Trevor took it back; didn't want Aleks to see it and take it, whether an accident or not. Getting stabbed in it was definitely an accident, a big one that Aleks wishes he could take back as much as he wishes he could go back to the first night they met and stay in the awkward, exhilarating moment of meeting someone who sees him as Aleks.

Just as Aleks, not this Immortal that Los Santos and others have come to know. Trevor always saw him as Aleks and he never tried to see him as anything else.

He was always Aleks, up until now.

“I want to know something, about - “

“Ask Lindsey,” Aleks interrupts, surprised as how even his voice is. His whole body is shaking uncontrollably, especially as he pushes past Trevor out the bathroom and heads for the front door.

Trevor trails after, watching Aleks struggle with the door before he wretches it open, the cold wind outside instantly freezing his bare skin. He hates this but he has to do it, before Trevor gets too deep or Kenny finds out this is where Aleks goes, or before Aleks says or does something he'll regret. He wouldn't regret kissing Trevor but he'd hate himself for it, for dragging Trevor into this and not warning him or giving him a way out. Aleks could've, if he'd started with the truth, though he knows he couldn't have risked it; maybe Trevor still would've let him in if he knew, still would've patched him up because Trevor's just a good guy like that, but it wouldn't be the same.

He'd look at Aleks differently, like how he's looking at him now. Aleks can't stand it.

“I was worried,” Trevor says, as Aleks reaches to pull the door shut behind him and leave Trevor alone. “When you called. I thought you were dead, or that I wasn't going to make it in time. And, I'm worried now. About whatever all this is, and why you don't want to talk about. I'm just worried about you, Aleks, I wanna know if you're okay.”

“You don't need to worry,” Aleks manages, and pulls the door closed when Trevor steps towards it.

His phone is in the damp pockets of his jeans so he'll call Lindsey, tell her he fucked up and he can't deal with it alone. She'll help, she always does, meanwhile Aleks will try to ignore the aching in his chest.

Trevor was worried, he said he was worried and Aleks shut the door and left him; _I'm sorry_ , he thinks, _I'm sorry for pretending to be something I wasn't_ , and pushes his keys into the lock on his door.

**.**

#####  **november 7th, 2016.**

**.**

He spends the entire day of November 6th asleep, a broken fool lying on his back trying not to move too much. Trevor did his best patching Aleks up, but injuries don't stop hurting just because they've been tended to a little. It's still delicate and sensitive, and Aleks aches. He aches. And he hasn't called Lindsey, instead looked at each of her texts and held onto himself for long enough to read what she sent and ignore it.

(1) From contact 'Linds’: _Why didn't you say you were alone?_

(2) From contact 'Linds’: _James isn't coming back, not for a while at least. You need to get yourself together, come stay with me and Brett if you need. I haven't told him about your boy but if he sticks around, we'll have to_

(3) From contact 'Linds’: _I wish you had told me you were alone. You know I want you to be okay._

(4) From contact 'Linds’: _I'm glad you found someone, Aleks._

Aleks reads through them again and again, and all the ones she sent in the past week that he ignored. She's always been too good for him, and James, and Brett, but she stuck around despite it. They need her, to look out for them, whether or not they want to admit it; she stuck around, chose them for no reason other than an old friendship with Brett. James and Aleks aren't hard to get along with, but they're not the ideal friend for someone like Lindsey.

Or for Trevor, either.

Aleks swallows, reaching a lazy arm out to grab at his phone with stretched fingers. He finds it, barely, and brings up the messages from Lindsey again. He remembers when Anna left, then when she died, and how he'd tried to talk to Lindsey about it without explicitly asking what had happened. She didn't want to talk about it, so he never pushed, but she said someday he'd probably understand. Then, and only then, could he ask.

He swallows again, choking down nerves and anxieties, and how long it's been since he last messaged Lindsey.

To contact 'Linds’: _What happened between you and Anna?_

He sighs and puts his phone to rest on his chest, slightly above his wound. He'll feel it vibrate and he can see her text back with an all too honest reply, and he knows it's going to be too personal to reply to genuinely. He'll try, though, that's what matters. And, the message is personal, and it's honest, but it's also far more simple than he thought.

(1) From contact 'Linds’: _It's hard seeing the person you love get hurt. Don't know if you remember but we used to need patching up a lot. Anna couldn't handle it and she left. Someone got to her before I could save her. that's all._

Aleks remembers the night Anna wouldn't pick up the phone - him sitting helpless on a couch as James and Brett argued a few rooms away, how Lindsey said she'd be back then disappeared on Aleks for hours. He knows Anna died, and that none of them knew how to properly handle the situation; Lindsey wasn't herself for months, and the longer it dragged on, the more desperate James got to take Aleks and leave.

So, they did. They left. Right when Lindsey needed them most, leaving Brett to deal with it as they tend to have a habit of doing. They do that a lot, except, Aleks never thought he'd be the one that James would somehow leave behind. No, that's a huge shock, one that he almost doesn't understand even with James’ disappearance inching up on a week and half. A week and half, nearly, that Aleks has been on his own. It's weird thinking about, if he's entirely honest, and the knowing how it feels to be left behind guilts him into messaging Lindsey again.

To contact 'Linds’: _You don't need to worry about me, you'll see me soon. And don't worry about the kid either, I'm not going to go to him anymore. thanks for everything, Lindsey. You're the best._

She sees it instantly but doesn't reply, and the lack of a response is a good thing, really. Even she can pick up on how much Aleks doesn't want to talk. He's guilty of pushing her away but he knows she'll always be there when he needs her the most, because she's one of the most dependable people he's ever met. Unlike himself - she could teach him a thing or two about that.

Aleks drags himself out of his head and out of his bed, running a constantly shaking hand through his dark hair. He's going to move into James’ place, or the place he and James used to share before Aleks was forced to get this one on short notice. It's not awful, honestly, but it's suffocating in a way he knows is thanks to the lack of windows, the grey walls, the smallness of it that is worsened by how big some of his furniture is. Trevor's place is bigger, surprisingly. For a college student seemingly putting himself through school, he's got a decent place.

He left a few hours ago, Aleks made sure. He didn't want to leave and risk running into Trevor and having to make a split second decision on whether to talk to him, apologise, or keep walking as if they were nothing more than neighbours having a chance meeting.

So, Aleks waited until he heard Trevor's front door slam then not reopen, and knew he could get up and start preparing to leave.

The past few years of his life is all packed up at James’ place, sitting empty and useless, waiting for Aleks or James to remember them. Aleks misses his bed, the kitchen, the television they bought last year when they had the money to afford a decent one, the couch he's fallen asleep on plenty of times, and how familiar it is. It might not be the same without James there but Aleks can try.

It's not raining out and he finds himself out the door of his apartment and into a cab with barely any memory of it. Every moment hurts, though, and he does his best impression of a man who's okay as he sits in the backseat of the cab, counting the money in his wallet as a distraction. If he appears to be busy, the driver won't bother him or ask any questions, he'll drive where Aleks needs and Aleks won't feel the need to force a conversation with someone he doesn't know. It's a win-win, until he sees his old apartment and waits for the car to slow so he can get out but it doesn't, and he's left staring at the driver with his interjection dying on his lips.

_Shit, shit, shit._

“You're Immortal, huh? Not really what I was expecting,” the driver says, as Aleks notices the gang mark on his neck. “Thought you might be older, you know? And taller. And better dressed.”

“You work with Kenny?” Aleks manages, swallowing nerves. The driver nods with a knowing smile and Aleks curses out loud this time, breathing laboured as he sits back in his seat.

He was supposed to die two days ago so Kenny's sent someone to finish the job. They'll probably drive him out to the docks, near an anchored ship smuggling Kenny's goods, and they'll shoot him and throw him in the sea to make sure he doesn't come back. It's terrifying, to know he's helpless in this cab and he might not have a way out of this, not after being so fortunate the last few times.

He left Mishka and Ein at home, by themselves, and James isn't back yet, and Aleks is as good as dead. His only reassurance is maybe Trevor will hear the dogs barking and tell the landlord; he'll hold onto Aleks’ dogs for as long as it takes James to return to claim them and bury what little of Aleks is left after Kenny's done with him. Or, he'll very literally feed him to the fishes and there'll be nothing of him left to bury.

Aleks inhales too sharp, and nothing about this settles well. He's going to die or get left to die again, and he doesn't have James because he's gone, and he told Lindsey he didn't need her help in less words, and there's no way Trevor would let him into his apartment and fix him up after everything.

He wouldn't deserve it, either. To have someone to go to. He either leaves or lies, and he looked Trevor right in the eye plenty of times and told a mock of the truth. He wouldn't deserve for Trevor to let him in, to look after him. He never deserved it, even from the start.

“Me and the boys are starting to think you might actually be immortal,” the driver says then, and Aleks can barely hear him over the sound of his own rapidly beating heart. “Even Kenny's scratching his head trying to figure out how you're still alive. I'm guessing pure luck, you don't exactly look like the type who's rough enough to get stabbed and get back up, no offense, man.”

“None taken,” Aleks lies, his hands cold as he tries to subtly slip them into either pocket. He has to have a weapon somewhere, even if it's a small pocket knife or something equally as ridiculous, as long as it's the slightest bit useful. He could take out this driver at a red light and get out of the car and run, just run as hard and fast as he fucking possibly can.

He's run away from much worse.

-

They're far too rough as they curl their fists in his jacket and pull him from the car. He doesn't both yelling or struggling, instead tries to slip helplessly out of his jacket as though he could possibly get away.

“ _You_ ,” Kenny spits, “are supposed to be dead. Dead or ten thousand dollars poorer, up to you.”

Someone kicks Aleks in the chest, painfully close to where he was stabbed. The man holding him up tightens his grip and Aleks swishes blood around his mouth before he spits it at Kenny's face, landing half on his own shoe in a disgusting mix of saliva and the familiarity of his own red blood that he's come to know so well these past few years. These past few days, particularly.

Kenny stares, incredulous and terrifying, and this is the man holding Aleks’ fate - his whole life, his own stupid, fucking life - in his palm. Aleks’ watery blood is wiped away, but it rests comfortably on Aleks’ shoe, and he has enough optimism left to be thankful for the current lack of rain.

“Kill him,” Kenny says, and that's what it takes for it all to settle in for Aleks.

He shouts, twisting in the grip of the man holding onto him. There's more blood dripping from his lips, dirt from being dragged across the floor in his hair, a desperate need to escape from this triggered in his brain.

“Bitch!” he yells at Kenny's retreating figure, receiving another, excruciating kick to his chest. He screams in pain and the universe laughs, because maybe he deserves this, maybe he doesn't, but they're going to kill him whether or not he's ready for it. He isn't even sure if you can be, just thinks about James somewhere, completely unaware of this, and of Aron, alone in a situation like this that he didn't come out of alive.

_No no no no no -_

The person holding onto him let's go of his jacket, their fingers combing through his hair before tugging at the roots. His fingernails dig into their hand, trying, and failing, to force their grip to slip, to give him the second he needs to get up and start running. He'd only need a few breaths, barely that, and at least then he'd have a chance of surviving this. Kenny was right, when he said Aleks should be dead; he's gotten far too lucky his whole life and now it's all catching up to him.

Aleks hears the rain begin again outside, the remainders of daylight pouring in through the open door he's pulled out of. It's concrete out here, like it was inside Kenny's warehouse, but it's smaller, harder to escape from.

He yells for help.

“Listen to him beg like a little bitch,” someone says, someone close but ahead of him. The same someone he can hear loading a gun, shaking loose bullets around in their hand. He shouts out again, hoping someone hears it and does something - anything - because he can't die right now, not with things the way they are.

He thinks of James, far away, getting news that Aleks was murdered, and Aleks has to get out of here.

He twists himself around as his scalp aches, his dark hair being tugged far too tight. The person loosens their grip, but more so from how tired their arm must be than Aleks throwing himself around on the ground as he's pulled across the floor by his hair.

There's a gunshot, close to his ear, and he freezes as the pressure in his scalp loosens and he falls the short distance to the ground. There's blood, he can almost smell the iron of it, and hebriefly he assumes it's his, and he's been shot and they'll leave him here to die out in the sun. Except, a familiar face moves into view, a welcome sight, and they start lifting Aleks to his feet as he stumbles about.

There's no adrenaline now, just fear and confusion, and thankfulness that Anonymous was here.

“Khail?” he breathes, a half sob.

“This is for James, okay? And for you,” Khail says, fingers digging into Aleks’ upper arm. “Now get the fuck out of here and out of Los Santos.”

Aleks doesn't ask what Khail is doing here with Kenny, he just gets up and runs, and doesn't stop when he hears people yell after him. Or hears the gunshots, too many landing uncomfortably close to his feet as he makes it up the small hill and out onto the road away from Kenny's warehouse. He doesn't dare call for a cab, instead tucks himself into the small bush alongside the road and walks until he's almost collapsing.

His clumsy hands retrieve his phone from his pocket and he texts Trevor, asks if he's there. Then he calls.

He calls, and he calls, and he calls. And Trevor doesn't pick up.

-

(1) From contact 'James’: _I'm coming home, Aleks. Three hours. I'll see you then._

**.**

#####  **november 8th, 2016.**

**.**

Trevor opens his door on the fifth knock, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and eyes adjusting to the dawn happening outside his door. To Aleks, too, with dried blood on his clothes, his hair dirty and wet, and the heaviness of his breaths the only other sound amongst the rain. Aleks has been standing outside Trevor's door for twenty minutes trying to figure out how to say this, so he knocked, and now he can't chicken out of this.

“... Aleks?”

“You wanted the truth, right?” Aleks says and doesn't wait for Trevor to respond. “My friend, James, stole money from this crime boss named Kenny, and now Kenny's trying to kill me. James stole the money from Kenny to pay someone else to not kill me, because I'm a… I'm a popular target, apparently. Every time I've shown up here, it was Kenny. Except for once. I was mugged for once, for real. It was pretty fucking _real_ , I'll tell you that.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Trevor asks.

It's so quiet that Aleks can barely resist the urge to draw him up into his arms and not let go. Or to kiss him and to stumble his way into Trevor's apartment attached to his lips, an apology and an explanation to his answer all his own. Aleks wants to say, _because I care about you,_ or maybe, _because you're the first person who's seen me for me,_ or, _because I was worried you'd realise what I've done and you wouldn't want me anymore_.

He settles on, “I like you. A lot.”

Aleks watches Trevor swallow, a hand reaching to push his glasses further up his nose as soft pieces of hair fall in his face. “You wanna come inside?”

There's a moment - a pause, with Trevor illuminated by the gentle warmth of a rising sun, barely awake but something very alive in his eyes - where Aleks thinks maybe they could start over. Forget him injured and bloodied, and lying through his teeth out of fear for the truth, and give him the opportunity to be himself, the one who isn't half dying a few times a week.

He aches; his scalp from the pressure of his hair being pulled, his legs from running, his chest from an injury not yet healed, his fingers from planning out a hundred texts to send Trevor but not sending either one, and, finally, his heart. That's from a lot of things, like James leaving, like Anna being dead, like Aron being dead, like Khail saving his life, like Trevor finding out the truth about Aleks and kicking him out of his apartment.

He had every right to, but it doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. Aleks came here for forgiveness, amongst other things, and he's close to praying he gets it. It being forgiveness, and being Trevor.

“Yeah, thanks,” he manages, clearing his throat, and Trevor steps out of the doorway to allow Aleks inside.

There's nothing else for Aleks at his door, he knows that now. There was never really anything for him there, but it led him to Trevor so he owes it that, at least.

In some roundabout way, everything up until now has led him to Trevor. Absolutely everything. And it led him to James, who is sitting back in his apartment with Mishka and Ein wondering what was so important that Aleks had to interrupt their reunion to attend. He came back and explained why he had to leave, asked Aleks why he was so dirty while simultaneously telling Aleks why he'd come closer to death this past week than he ever has, which is saying something.

Something about 2013 and an assassin chasing a kid named Immortal, and a slightly older kid named Nova offering the assassin ten thousand dollars to spare Aleks. Ten thousand that Nova didn't have so he'd steal from a mob boss three years later, and then return to Immortal after a week in 2016, when he'd paid off the assassin and had borrowed enough money from contacts to repay what he took from Kenny.

It's an entirely too long narrative that Aleks doesn't remember in its entirety, but he remembers the exact moment he showed up at a house he and James used to call theirs, and James opened the door. He opened the door and Aleks was bloodied and soaked, and so exhausted he almost collapsed into James, relieved enough to cry and for James to sweep Aleks into his arms.

James heard a week after leaving that Aleks had died, a small apologetic text from Brett that confirmed his worst fears. It was nothing more than a rumour but believable enough on its own, because any other person would’ve died after everything Aleks had gone through. But, James didn’t believe it, even for a second-- he called Lindsey, unable to keep his hands still, and she told him she hadn’t heard from Aleks so she couldn’t confirm anything.

“Knowing Aleksandr,” she’d said, James tells Aleks, “he’ll be alright. He’s a tough kid, and he’s good, and he’ll get help if he needs it. I’ll let you know if he calls, okay? I’m sure he’s fine, James.”

Brett had said something similar, James says. Something about asking Khail and a few others, seeing if anyone around Los Santos can keep an eye out for Aleks or possibly get themselves into a position where they can help him if needs be. “If he’s alive,” Brett had added. “But I’ll ask around. Give you peace of mind.”

By the time James had returned, Aleks had five thousand of the ten in cash that James needed. Funds from his now drained bank account and from small robberies at gas stations or stores, hiding in a plastic Chinese takeout bag stashed underneath the mattress on his bed. He barely slept so he didn’t feel it when he laid down, he tells James, and he doesn't need it but it's there if James does.

James doesn't.

But Aleks knows a college kid who might.

“Coffee?” Trevor asks, retrieving two mugs from the cupboard at his head. His textbooks for class are sitting on the counter, and Aleks allows himself a moment to look at them.

“Sounds good,” he replies, leaning his chin on his hand as he sits down, watching Trevor’s back.

This is right, or it feels right. Aleks is going to let it feel right even if it isn’t because for once he gets to win; James is home, and Lindsey and Aleks are talking again, and Aleks is in Trevor’s apartment a few minutes away from drinking coffee with him. Even if it isn’t right, it’s the most right things have felt in years.

“Milk?” Trevor's asking, turning to look at Aleks as he repeats himself.

“A little, thanks,” Aleks says, and lets his gaze rest on Trevor. The long length of his legs, his tussled hair that Aleks is already familiar with, the small rip in the back of his shirt that tells Aleks he wears it a lot.

Aleks isn't good at reading people but this feels less like reading and more like knowing. He knows Trevor and Trevor knows him, and Aleks can tell from his angled shoulders that he's finding it hard to relax as he moves about his small kitchen. But he turns to Aleks, drinks in hand, and smiles at him, mirroring Aleks’ own small grin.

“Thanks for…” Aleks gestures to his drink weakly. “You know. The coffee.”

“Are you--” Trevor starts, cutting himself with a small cough. “Are you going to stay? You can, if you want. I don't mind.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Then, yeah, I'll stay,” Aleks laughs, light and with a nervous duck of his head. “For the night, if that's what you're asking.”

“I'm not sure yet.”

“Offer's on the table if you want it.”

Trevor avoids eye contact for a moment before he shakes his head and looks back at Aleks, a certain shyness to his gaze as he says, “Wanna watch a movie? Horror or something.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

And when Trevor falls asleep against Aleks, hair falling in his face and hand in Aleks’ lap, Aleks smiles softly at him and stays. He stays, because this is _something_ and he wants this something, and he'll kiss Trevor when the time is right. He'll kiss him and Trevor will kiss him back, and then things will really be right.

They'll be right. It all will be.

And everything Aleks has ever needed is right at Trevor's door.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments appreciated, happy new year ♡.
> 
>   _links:_  
>  personal tumblr [here](http://gavinsaleks.tumblr.com) !  
> cowchop sideblog [here](http://linzbots.tumblr.com) !  
> writing sideblog [here](http://fakespoetry.tumblr.com) !
> 
> ♡.


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